The Wolf
by CookieMonsterIsAwesome
Summary: Heinkel Wolfe's life will never be the same. Forced to join Hellsing on their trip to South America in order to avenge the deaths of her friends, she is less and less certain that revenge is what she wants...at least against a certain werewolf. Why did he save her, anyway? And why won't he fight her already? What's a former Vatican agent to do?
1. Prologue

Prologue

 _We must be better and perform better than the enemy, and only then can we say, 'Give death and take death—that's our motto!_ \- S.S. officer

Heinkel Wolfe had never been an optimistic person, but the scene that lay before her made it impossible. Though Buckingham Palace remained pristine due to the hastily erected barbed-wire fence protecting it from vandals, both living and (un)dead, beyond the barrier blackened buildings loomed above a ruined, smoking landscape reminiscent of a Bosch painting. And while the roads nearest the palace had been cleared by armed patrols euphemistically termed Street Sweepers, Heinkel knew bodies still ripened in the sun that had deigned to show itself today, of all days.

 _How ironic._

Her eyes stung and she blinked rapidly to dispel the moisture; after all, this was no time for tears. She would wallow in her misery at a later date, even though there was perhaps no other situation more deserving of grief.

Had it really been just forty eight hours since she'd lost the only people who mattered to her? A lump formed in Heinkel's throat as she pictured their faces for the hundredth time: Father Andersen's crooked smile, Archbishop Maxwell scolding her for blowing their cover yet again, and, Yumie, her best friend and fellow warrior, with her fiery temper and fierce loyalty.

Heinkel's fingers strayed to the bandages covering her cheek-the wound the Nazi had given her-though she ignored the pain this action occasioned; it was nothing compared to her inner torment. Soon, she would dispense justice to those who had disgraced her, the monsters who had killed her comrades, profaned the one, holy, apostolic Church. She didn't know how she had survived the Blitz, why the werewolf had spared her life when, by all rights, he should have killer her, too-but it didn't matter.

Perhaps this was God's way of telling her what she already knew: that she must avenge the outrages committed against Him. After the Major's death at the hands of Sir Integra, his servants had fled before they could be captured, but Heinkel would find them, capture them, make them suffer until they begged for death. Her hands curled into fists at the memory of Yumie's limp body, bright eyes closed forever, hands never again to wield her katana.

 _I never had the chance to say goodbye..._

"Heinkel?"

She flinched at the sound of Seras' voice but refused to turn, eyes fixed on the blighted city.

"What?"

Even that simple word made her cheek throb, but Heinkel was determined not to appear weak before the vampire. Seras might seem sweet, but beneath that innocent exterior lurked a predator. Heinkel finally looked at her companion: a hard expression she had employed during many an interrogation.

Yet if Seras noticed her irritation, she did not remark on it.

"Sir Integra wants to speak with you, if you're not busy." The draculina accompanied this remark with the dimpled grin that had charmed countless men-and earned eternal enmity from their wives.

It amazed Heinkel that the vampire could still smile after her master's demise-and yet, here she was, beaming as though nothing was amiss. Of course, Seras was a creature of the night: with a heart that no longer beat, incapable of loving anyone besides herself. The sight of that smile made Heinkel's nails sink into her palms until they drew blood; after a moment, the draculina looked away, some strong emotion flickering in her eyes before they became carefully blank once more.

Heinkel was tempted to ignore the request, tell Integra exactly what she could do with her conversation, but the woman was just as stubborn as the Archbishop, if not more; she'd have no peace if she didn't obey the summons. That said, nothing prevented her from procrastinating, if only to annoy her new ally. Closing her eyes, Heinkel rested her forehead against the glass, enjoying the coolness on her skin, though it did nothing to dispel her sudden headache.

Seras murmured, "She says it's urgent."

At that, Heinkel's eyes opened; and she reminded herself fiercely that this was her life now, that it was useless to mourn the past, wish for what might have been. Now, she must work with the Protestants, heretics though they were, because only they could aid her sacred mission.

Iscariot's leaders were dead, the organization itself in tatters, if not actually dissolved-and so, this papal agent had been reduced to an alliance with the Church of England, Rome's bitterest enemy, who, detestable though she may be, was the lone alternative to death and destruction at the hands of a madman's army.

Therefore, until Millennium's defeat, until she held her enemies' still-beating hearts in her hand, she would obey Integra-no matter what she requested, or how Heinkel hated it. She would do it for friends, for her Church, for Christendom itself...and she would not fail. Turning her back on the window, Heinkel followed her new partner.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

" _It gives us a very special, secret pleasure to see how unaware the people around us are of what is really happening to them._ "-Hitler

Rustling Heinkel's robes and assailing her nose with the pungent smell of fish, the London wind sliced straight through her, making Heinkel shiver in spite of herself. She shot a furtive glare at Seras, whose undead status rendered her utterly unaffected by the cold-though it was a wonder the Protestant whore wasn't freezing in that skimpy uniform, even if she was dead.

For a moment, the draculina met her gaze, blue eyes imperturbable; Heinkel's cheeks warmed at the memory of her irreverent thoughts, but she refused to look away.

Finally, Seras blinked, shattering the tension. "Guess I should have picked a warmer spot." She turned to the darkened street below, allowing Heinkel to (finally) relax. "But I'm not used to having a partner...a live one, anyway." There was an unmistakably wistful note in the vampire's voice at the reminder of her former master.

 _No great loss, that one._

If Seras was hoping for an answer, she was destined to be disappointed. For one thing, Heinkel had resolved to speak as little as possible since her injury; her cheek throbbed every time she opened her mouth, and she could barely force out more than a few words, anyway.

Besides, why waste them lamenting the loss of someone who had gotten less than he deserved? If it were up to Heinkel, Alucard would burn in hell for what he'd done to Andersen. Since vampires didn't have souls, though, she supposed his ashes were drifting on the wind somewhere: an attractive end in comparison. The knowledge that he had perished without recompense for his sins made her fists clench.

But at the memory of Seras' sire, Heinkel was unable to repress another shiver; this time, the wind was not to blame. Though she'd be honor bound to avenge her mentor's death had Alucard lived, Heinkel wasn't foolish enough to believe, even for a moment, that she would have survived the encounter. Even Walter had known it, despite his bravado. She'd seen it in his eyes: fear inspired less by his opponent than by the divine judgment that awaited him.

In contrast to Heinkel's restlessness, Seras was still-so motionless that she could have been a statue, a ghostly gargoyle embedded in the stone surrounding them-eyes fixed on the entrance of the building below them, gaze glittering in the gloom.

However, Heinkel suspected this was merely an effort to appear vigilant rather than actual reconnaissance; in defiance of the city wide curfew, the club vibrated to the beat of blaring music that made her head ache even at this distance. Surely even Seras' supernatural hearing couldn't penetrate such a racket...

Blowing on her cupped hands to warm them, Heinkel paced, scowling as she reflected that she was more likely to freeze where she stood than see any action. They'd been standing here for almost an hour; Integra's informant must be wrong. The thought of the woman's expression when she learned this was worth almost the chill.

Below them, a door slammed, expelling flashing lights, pounding drums, and a tattooed couple holding hands.

 _Fools_.

Did they care nothing for the ghouls still roaming the city? The party could hardly be worth becoming a monster's meal. As if in answer to her question, the girl giggled: a breathy, high-pitched sound that made Heinkel's lip curl. Involuntarily, she glanced at Seras for her reaction-but the blonde was, for once, impossible to read.

Hand in hand, the lovers strolled down the street, oblivious to the destruction surrounding them, the thousands who had perished just days before. The girl swayed, teetering in her stilettos, but the man caught her before she could fall, pulling her into his arms for a kiss.

Now Seras looked wistful; Heinkel recalled the mercenary-Captain Bernadotte-who had sacrificed himself for her, the budding romance between them that even she, the most unenthusiastic of observers, could see. Though Bernadotte had been a mercenary, a man whose heroics were purchased rather than spontaneous, part of her remained impressed with the courage he'd displayed in facing Zorin Blitz.

Besides, her conscience prodded, Heinkel herself was cooperating with heretics: the same deed she'd condemned the captain for. She frowned at the thought. Now, it wasn't the same; she cared nothing for money, or the concerns of this world. It was the Lord's work, and His work alone, that motivated her...wasn't it?

A shrill voice shattered her thoughts, making her flinch; the girl's speech was even more annoying than her laugh, if possible.

"Let's go back to my place." She clutched at her partner's sleeve, narrowly managing to remain upright. "It's cold out here...I could use something to warm me up."

Heinkel couldn't resist making a soft retching sound; the boy glanced her way and she flattened herself against the wall, though he couldn't possibly have heard her. Unless...

The boy leaned towards his companion, eyes glittering with a light that owed nothing to the club's illuminations. "Why wait? I can warm you up right here..."

When she hesitated, his grin vanished, replaced by a predatory expression that made Heinkel's skin crawl. "What's the matter? Don't you like me anymore? Think you're too good for me, bitch?"

Frightened now, the girl tried to disengage herself from his grip, but the boy held her fast. "Please." She whimpered. "You're hurting me."

The boy grinned, revealing his fangs in all their glory; they gleamed, white as bone, as the girl screamed.

Heinkel raised her gun, ready to end the monster's life with a blessed bullet...but Seras was already moving; with one great, impossible leap, the draculina slammed into her fellow vampire, sending him sprawling to the ground. The girl, her wrist freed, stopped screaming and fled, though she didn't make it more than a few steps before being confronted with the barrel of Heinkel's gun.

"Don't move, or...I'll...kill you."

The girl froze, face paling at the sight of Heinkel's ruined features. "Please don't hurt me." She whimpered, as though _they_ were the monsters. "I won't say anything, I swear! Just let me go..."

 _Ungrateful slut._

"We won't hurt you. Look at me." Seras' voice was sweet and soothing; despite her fear, the girl obeyed. The draculina's eyes glimmered, a hypnotic ruby red that made Heinkel look away. "Everything's going to be fine."

The girl nodded, her body swaying slightly, though not because of the alcohol (this time). "Everything will be fine." She repeated, in a dull drone that unsettled Heinkel in spite of herself.

Seras smiled, clearly pleased with herself. Her attention was entirely devoted to the girl now; the boy struggled beneath her, but she scarcely seemed to notice.

"That's right. You're going to go home, forget everything that happened tonight, and go straight to bed. Can you do that?"

"Yes." Without another word, the girl walked away, now balancing perfectly in her heels.

"One more thing." Seras called after her. "Stay out of the clubs."

There was a chuckle from below her.

"You think that'll do any good, blondie? If I don't get her, someone else will." His eyes roamed her body, gaze calculating. "But I'm willing to forgive the interruption."

Her patience exhausted, Heinkel aimed and fired in one smooth motion, sending a bullet into his leg; the vampire howled in agony, flirtation forgotten.

Seras said sweetly, "It's you who should be seeking our forgiveness. Now, tell us everything you know about Millennium-or my friend will finish what she started."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 _"And I can fight only for something that I love, love only what I respect, and respect only what I at least know."-_ Adolf Hitler

 _Two Hours Later_

"Report."

Tobacco smoke wreathing her head, Integra Fairbrook Windgates Hellsing surveyed her wayward subordinates with her customary haughty expression. "I expected you half an hour ago."

Seras' face reddened-how could vampires blush, since their blood didn't circulate?-and she bowed her head, not daring to look at Heinkel. "It was my fault. The interrogation...took longer than I expected."

Despite her injury, Heinkel couldn't resist a smirk. _That's one way to put it. Anyway, the bastard won't be helping Millennium any time soon._

"And?" Integra leaned forward, her patience clearly exhausted. "What did you learn?"

Seras said apologetically, "Not much. All he could tell us was that the surviving members of Millennium boarded a cargo ship bound for Buenos Aires yesterday. He hasn't heard from them since."

 _We'd have learned more, if she weren't so weak._

Heinkel scowled at the thought. If only the little fool hadn't objected to her interrogation methods! Really, they were quite effective; and a vampire, of all people, shouldn't mind the sight of a little blood. As it was, the damage she'd inflicted was minimal-though quite satisfactory-and over Seras' loud protests. Well, no matter; she had bigger fish to fry.

"I _told_ those idiots to close the waterfront."

Though she was clearly infuriated at the prospect of Millennium's escape, Heinkel also detected a certain amount of satisfaction in Integra's eyes at having been vindicated. No doubt the mayor of London would soon be regretting his decision to ignore her...

A light rain began to patter against the window, bringing her thoughts full circle once more. Strange, that Millennium had chosen to flee by boat when the trip would be much faster-and less risky-conducted by plane. But then, Heinkel had never witnessed the Nazis using modern aircraft; perhaps they didn't trust it. The memory of the zeppelins darkening the London skyline tightened around her chest like an iron band.

Shaking her head, Integra dialed Dorian: her new butler and Walter's former protégée (why Integra trusted him was a mystery). "Dorian."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Purchase three tickets on the next flight to Buenos Aires-at once."

If he was startled by his master's request, the butler didn't show it. "Right away, madam."

Seras grasped what was happening before Heinkel did. "You're coming with us?"

For once, Heinkel's displeasure equaled hers. Integra accompany them? Impossible! Hellsing's leader may have been good with a sword, but she wasn't immortal, like Seras, or a trained fighter, like Heinkel. In combat, Integra would only be a liability; and, much as Heinkel detested the woman, she was unprepared for the death of yet another superior. Though she was unable to articulate this, her eyes said it all.

Seras sputtered, "But you can't-we can't-it isn't safe."

Unfazed by the draculina's outburst, Integra scribbled something on the page before her; Heinkel tried to decipher her handwriting, but concluded she would have better luck reading Sanskrit.

"I can and I will." Integra's voice left no room for argument. "I refuse to send the two of you alone, and Dorian is needed here. Besides"-for a moment, her face darkened-"there is no one else."

This was Heinkel's main consolation; nearly every member of Hellsing, like Iscariot, had perished during the Blitz. With the exception of Seras and Integra, the only survivors had been off base at the time, or retirees who'd agreed to return on a temporary basis.

Unfortunately, Dorian belonged to the former group. Heinkel hated the man already-and not merely because of his loyalty to Integra-and Dorian, for his part, had an equal aversion to her, though he attempted to conceal it behind a mask of smug politeness. This gave Heinkel special pleasure in being rude to him (behind Integra's back, of course).

Maybe it was her faith that annoyed the old heretic, or maybe Dorian simply suspected the truth-that Heinkel would abandon Integra in an instant were it possible-but the suspicion in his eyes, in conjunction with his condescending manner, made Heinkel long to give Dorian the beating he deserved. Maybe then he'd know his place...

A sudden pocket of turbulence made the jet sway, ending her reverie. Stomach churning, Heinkel realized she had yet another reason to despise the women of Hellsing: neither suffered from a fear of heights. After all, Seras could easily walk away from a plane crash; Integra feared nothing.

She consoled herself with the thought that although this was the most excruciating experience she'd ever had-worse than the time she and Yumie were forced to scale a high-rise building to rescue Cardinal Levada from an assassin-it was still better than being trapped in Hellsing's headquarters, brooding. Fear forgotten, Heinkel gazed into the darkness below, imagining the Nazis' expressions when she came for them. The earth would be drenched with their blood...

Hans stood at the railing, wind numbing his face, spray soaking his clothing, snatches of the others' conversation reaching his ears from time to time. Nothing he hadn't heard before: Herr Doctor raving about his experiments restoring the Reich, Van Winkle humming an opera tune, Schrodinger annoying everyone with his endless supply of trivial remarks.

How could they be so calm, so unaffected by the bloodshed of just days before? How could they feel anything but despair at the defeat they'd suffered? Then again, how could he? Even now, Hans dreamed of battle, anticipated the way he and his comrades would, guided by the Major, destroy everything and everyone in their path: a beautiful, glorious battle, culminating in the destruction of this worthless world.

But now that their commander was dead, what would become of them? Could they really carry out the Major's mission without him? His hands tightened on the railing until the metal crumpled; Hans released it at the sound of approaching footsteps.

 _Schrodinger_.

Instinctively, he stiffened, expecting more aimless chatter, but the boy was uncharacteristically silent. Finally, he asked, "Can I join you?" Strange; Millennium's youngest-and cockiest-lieutenant never asked permission for anything. The events of the past forty eight hours had obviously affected him more than he let on...

When Hans nodded, the boy crossed the deck to stand beside him; gazing at the black waters below, he whispered, "What now?"

All bravado was gone; Schrodinger was only a child now, as lost as the rest of them. Suddenly, he seemed impossibly young, a boy merely playing at war. But he, too, was a soldier; his hands were as blood stained as the rest. Hans wanted to comfort the boy, but he didn't know how; compassion had long been a foreign concept to him-and anyway, the Major wouldn't have approved.

They waited for for hours, but the answer never came.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 _The only thing that matters is that we stand firm_.-Heinrich Himmler

 _1 week later_

Although Heinkel was exhausted, sleep continued to elude her—not that she had any desire for rest; unconsciousness would only unsettle her more. Even now, horrible images flashed behind her eyelids, a macabre and never-ending slideshow: a housewife attempting to shield her children from a Nazi bayonet, a vampire straddling a limp, white body, ghouls shambling down a deserted street.

Heinkel may have been one of Escariot's most formidable fighters, but the memories made her skin crawl nonetheless. They clung to her like cobwebs—but unlike spiders' strands, nothing could dispel them.

Jumping to her feet, she began to pace, body humming with restless energy; dawn was just lightening the sky, but Heinkel had never felt more awake. Unfortunately, there was no one to share her vigil, as Integra had turned in hours ago, while Sera would just be sliding into her coffin. The only ones awake at this hour were the sentries: mercenaries she didn't trust to guard her back, let alone hold an intelligent conversation.

With a huff, Heinkel flopped onto her bed again and trained her gaze on the ceiling, as though by staring at it long enough, she would discover the answers to her questions (though she gained nothing but a headache and a growing sense irritability at her own impotence.

It didn't help that the Argentina mission had been an utter failure; though they'd scoured the country for days, visiting every potential Nazi hideout and then some—roughing up more than a few people in the process—Millennium had vanished without a trace.

Either their source had been lying, or they had underestimated Millennium's stealth capabilities. And either possibility was maddening: Heinkel hated the thought of a wasted interrogation; and as for the Nazis concealing themselves…well, these same people had attacked London with zeppelins—little more than glorified balloons—for heaven's sake! The idea of them sinking quietly into exile was ludicrous, to say the least.

Then again, the Major _was_ dead; without him, his lieutenants surely wanted nothing more than to disappear, at least temporarily. It would take some time to recover from such a crushing blow—even for a group of lunatics devoted to nothing but bloodshed. Undoubtedly, they would need more soldiers, since Millennium's forces had been decimated in the third Battle of London: a small consolation, since the deranged doctor would have no trouble replenishing their ranks.

After a fruitless fortnight in South America, Integra had decreed they would return to London to begin reconstruction—of both Hellsing and the United Kingdom—something Heinkel wanted no part of; she had no love for the Church of England or the wicked nation it served. Yet she had no choice; these heathens were her only chance at vengeance. She would ignore their sin—for now—so that justice could be served. God would understand; after all, hadn't His son fraternized with Samaritans and tax collectors?

Still, Heinkel missed the company of other Catholics, longed for the presence of her brothers and sisters in faith. Not for the first time, she wished the Holy Father had approved the reestablishment of Escariot—but Heinkel could hardly blame him for refusing, since he had been ignorant of its existence in the first place: another of Maxwell's deceptions.

Heinkel knew she should be angered by the archbishop's lies, infuriated by the secrets he'd kept from her, his loyal servant—but there was only a yawning emptiness. Before she became overwhelmed, she buried the emotions swirling inside her: a technique she had honed after long years in the Church's service.

Though Andersen and Maxwell had always treated Heinkel as an equal—binding her to them as tightly as any sacred vow—many men did not feel the same, loudly opining that she belonged in a convent. It had taken many years and much political wrangling before Escariot accepted its first female agent, and then with much reluctance.

Pushing away all thoughts of the past, she returned her attention to the problem at hand: locating her friends' murderers. As much as Heinkel hated to admit it, she was fortunate that the Nazis had chosen this moment to vanish; for, even with Hellsing's help, Heinkel could never exact the revenge honor demanded in her current state.

Besides, frustrating as it was, Millennium's retreat was undeniable proof that it was not invincible, that the Nazis could be defeated. Instead of fighting, they had fled—and that was all she needed to know.

Heinkel woke to late morning sunlight; blinking bleary eyes, she wondered why Yumie had not roused her earlier. Andersen would be angry that she had overslept; no doubt he would punish her with extra combat training…Then Heinkel remembered her friend and mentor were dead, lying in a cold mausoleum in the Vatican, and the pain in her heart was far more agonizing than any battle wound.

 _At least,_ she thought with a feeble attempt at humor, _I'm wide awake now._

Rising from her bed—scarcely more rested than when she'd lain down—Heinkel left the room, pausing only to holster the guns she'd placed under her pillow. Others might find such a position uncomfortable, but she had slept this way for years; and now, Heinkel needed the weapons' security more than ever.

Striding down the hallway, she made a half-hearted attempt to smooth her wrinkled robes; Heinkel hadn't bothered to undress, since she hadn't expected to receive much, if any, rest. By contrast, the bed remained pristine, the only sign of her presence a slight indentation in the pillow. Heinkel felt a pang as she remembered her old room, with its narrow cot and the hand-carved crucifix on the wall. Who slept there now?

 _No one, most likely. I imagine the Holy Father has ordered all traces of us eradicated—including repurposing our living quarters. As Andersen used to say, delay is the only thing he despises more than dissent._

Shaking off her nostalgia, Heinkel set off in search of Sir Integra, determined to demand that her new superior enlighten her on the next phase of Hellsing's plans—secrecy be damned. Part of her protested that it was too early for a confrontation with her new superior, but Heinkel was too impatient to wait any longer; after two weeks squandered in Argentina, she was acutely aware that every second Millennium remained free was a victory for the Major and his ilk. The thought made her teeth clench; and she caressed the cool metal of her pistol, picturing the Captain's face when she jammed it down his throat.

 _Yumie, Maxwell, Andersen, I_ will _avenge you; I swear it._

Luckily, it didn't take long to locate Integra; her clipped voice was audible even from several halls away, accompanied by Dorian's soothing replies. Heinkel pictured Integra seated in her wingback chair as though it were a throne, smoke wreathing her head as she scolded her subordinate.

The thought startled her; when had she come to know Hellsing's leader so well? And why did the image of an irritated Integra make her smirk, rather than recoil in disgust? Unsettled by this realization, Heinkel opened the office door without bothering to knock.

Sure enough, Integra was seated behind her desk, cigar clamped between her teeth as she frowned at Dorian, while the butler, in turn, regarded his mistress with a mutinous expression that gave Heinkel a surprising amount of satisfaction; finally, it was the old man's turn to be on the receiving end of Integra's displeasure. At the sight of Heinkel, Dorian's face darkened even further; Heinkel blew him a kiss, which he steadfastly ignored (though a muscle in his jaw twitched).

Rather than scolding her as Maxwell would have, Integra merely raised an eyebrow at Heinkel's sudden appearance. "There you are; it's about time. The new recruits arrive tomorrow, and you will train them." It wasn't a request.

 _Recruits?_

This was the first Heinkel had heard of any newcomers—a revelation which rankled, even as she told herself she didn't care. Did no one trust her with the truth? More practical considerations soon took precedent, however. How had Integra found more soldiers so quickly? Were these people aware of what they were getting into? And how could she train anyone if she could hardly speak?

Before Heinkel could argue, though, Dorian beat her to it. "With all due respect, my lady, Ms. Wolfe is hardly qualified to be an instructor. Myself and Ms. Victoria will be quite sufficient—

"Did I ask for your opinion, Dorian?"

Integra spoke softly, but something in her voice made the butler stiffen. Her glasses gleamed, hiding her expression, and Heinkel resisted the urge to take a step back. The air felt heavy, almost electric; she realized she was holding her breath and exhaled with a whoosh.

"No, my lady. Please, forgive my insolence." Dorian bowed his head in contrition—though not quickly enough to hide his displeasure.

Despite her own annoyance, Heinkel was unable to repress a smirk at her at Dorian's dressing-down—though she doubted the others noticed, given her ravaged features. Although she had never been prone to vanity—beauty never won wars—she felt a twinge at the reminder and imagined her fist colliding with the Captain's face, taunting him as he bled, watching the life fade from his eyes. Then, everything—all the pain and suffering, death and destruction—would be worth the sacrifices she had made, the things she had lost.

Her rage subsiding, Heinkel finally dared to meet Integra's gaze—to her surprise, some emotion flickered in the other woman's eyes, something like understanding, or even respect—before her commander looked away, her expression detached once more.

Waving away the butler's apology like so much smoke, Integra extinguished her cigar. "Dorian, that will be all."

With a bow, the butler vanished—though not without a last, pointed glance at Heinkel. Much of the tension in the room left with him; Integra—who seemed to have forgotten Heinkel's presence—removed her glasses, kneading her forehead ferociously as she stared at something Heinkel couldn't see.

For a moment, Integra resembled nothing more than a child playing at being grown up, almost ridiculous in the opulent office. For a moment, Integra was no longer a formidable soldier, but a girl as lost as Heinkel herself. The thought should have worried her, but instead, it lent her a surprising strength.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 _In the absence of orders, go find something and kill it._ -Erwin Rommel

Heinkel heard the new recruits long before she saw them; like most civilians, these people hadn't the faintest notion of stealth. She cringed as they stomped down the corridor, clamorous conversation broadcasting their location more effectively than any tracking device.

And if Heinkel—a mere human—could detect the rookies so easily, Seras would have sensed them well before they entered the building. Though the observation vindicated her—she'd warned Integra about the burden imposed by non-shooters, who would only get in the way in the heat of battle—it was also unsettling; these fools wouldn't last five minutes in combat.

Wincing as one woman emitted a particularly high-pitched laugh, Heinkel reflected that anyone with even the most rudimentary training could quickly slaughter the new-comers. Normally this wouldn't bother her—she cared nothing for the fate of heretics—but allowing them to die wasn't an option (at least until Heinkel fulfilled her mission). Which meant she was little better than a glorified babysitter for the foreseeable future…Lip curling, Heinkel cursed Hellsing for the hundredth time, noting sourly that she'd run out of suitable epithets.

Glancing at Seras, Heinkel was surprised to see that her new partner wasn't smiling at the prospect of new comrades. Instead, the draculina's lips were pursed, her eyes distant; one hand clutched the gun at her hip as though it were the only thing anchoring her, preventing her from lashing out in a whirlwind of blood and destruction.

Heinkel knew only too well how the vampire felt, caught between the desperation and fury warring inside her; a sudden surge of sympathy for the other girl made her scowl, determined not to let her guard down, give the enemy any more advantages.

Heinkel ignored the murmurings of her heart, the twinge of regret that she must loathe a girl like herself in so many ways, as she had always done; the heart was a foolish organ, its judgment never to be trusted. Only her head—which assessed things calmly and coolly, through the narrow lens of orthodoxy—could be relied upon.

She opened her mouth to say something cutting: something to shatter the moment, remind both women that no matter how many battles they fought together, no matter how many enemies they vanquished, they would always be enemies.

But no words emerged; instead, they hovered on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach. Suddenly, it seemed dangerous to break the silence between them, even though Seras remained silent and motionless, even though Heinkel had yet to see the other woman raise her voice, let alone raise a hand against another.

Yet the emotion emanating from her companion unsettled her; Heinkel feared the slightest action would focus that anger on herself—and all the training in the world couldn't save her then. Feeling like a cornered animal, she resisted the urge to retreat, withdrawing from the world like a turtle curled in its shell. Heinkel Wolfe was no coward, but what she felt now was perilously close to fear.

The air around her heavy with the promise of something dark and ugly, Heinkel's skin prickled, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention in anticipation of the coming storm. While the rest of her remained still, eyes locked on Seras, her hand inched toward the barrel of the gun holstered at her side; though the Hellsing mansion was cold and drafty as ever, a bead of sweat rolled down Heinkel's temple.

Thankfully, Seras remained oblivious to her partner's movements—but the darkness surrounding her did not. Shadows clustered around the draculina: an inky, impenetrable black that had no place in the daylight, tendrils reaching for Heinkel like grasping arms. Fighting the urge to back away, she watched them with the horrified fascination usually reserved for car accidents and the low-budget horror flicks Yumie loved.

Heinkel wanted nothing more than to run, but instinct informed her this was no pageantry or cheap trick meant to impress; it was dark magic, black magic: a power no human could hope to harness. Running would be both fruitless and foolish.

Her fists clenched, nails biting into her palms 'til they drew blood, gun forgotten. What could bullets do against a spell, anyway? Once again, Seras remained obvious, though her nostrils flared at blood's coppery tang. Then, finally looking at Heinkel, she smiled—but there was no joy in the expression, nothing except a terrible emptiness, a predator baring her fangs. The shadows writhed, caressing Seras like a second skin.

A chill gripped Heinkel, her skin feeling frigid as a corpse. _She's going to kill me._

Though earlier she had stood frozen, a deer in the proverbial headlights, now Heinkel found the strength to move again; balancing on the balls of her feet, she clutched the hilt of her gun, lips moving as she recited her favorite combat prayer.

 _Saint Michael, defend us in battle…_ Even as she prayed, Heinkel cursed her own folly. If only she'd heeded own advice…

For despite Heinkel's training, despite the many battles she'd won, missions completed, and infidels subdued, Seras had penetrated her defenses like no enemy before her; the draculina's gentle facade had lulled her into a sense of complacency: causing Heinkel to forget, however briefly, that the girl before her could never be trusted, no matter how kind she might seem.

And now she would pay for her carelessness…Heinkel tensed, readying herself for flashing fangs and tearing flesh.

Instead, Seras blinked, the darkness around her dissipating so quickly Heinkel half-wondered if she'd imagined the entire episode; but her racing heart suggested otherwise. "Sorry; did you say something?"

Heinkel crossed her arms, hiding her relief behind a mask of annoyance. "Don't vampires…have super-hearing?"

Seras rubbed the back of her head sheepishly as her pale cheeks reddened. "We're supposed to…" Incredibly, the rage she'd radiated only a moment before was gone, replaced by the silly smile Heinkel had once resented but now welcomed.

 _That was close._

Body relaxing in response to the changed atmosphere, Heinkel exhaled, sensing a crisis had just been averted, though she was careful to keep her hand on her gun and her eye on Seras. She'd never considered the draculina attacking her before, but now it was all she could think about.

Then again, there was always the possibility that Heinkel had misjudged the situation, that Seras' fury wasn't focused on her at all. In that case, it was her duty to discover the cause of the other girl's anger—if only because they would be spending so much time together. Even if Seras' hatred wasn't directed at her, Heinkel knew well that once such deadly anger was unleashed, it sought the most accessible rather than the actual target.

She started to question the other girl—it always helped Yumie to discuss her demons—but before she could speak, the door opened to admit a motley collection of men and women, Dorian at their head.

Heinkel gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to make a sardonic comment about knocking. _Talk about terrible timing…_

Ignoring her, Dorian gestured grandly at their surroundings, as though he were a tour guide rather than a glorified servant.

"This, ladies and gentleman, is the training room, where my…associates and I—he flicked a pained glance at Heinkel—will instruct you in the latest combat techniques. Please refrain from touching the weapons."

The butler swelled with self-importance as he spoke, though he'd been in Integra's employ for just over a fortnight: hardly longer than Heinkel herself. She wondered why Hellsing's leader trusted him; after all, Walter's protégé was likely just as traitorous as his mentor.

The group quieted like chastised children, surveying their surroundings with wide eyes; it was difficult to tell if they were impressed or simply intimidated by the array of weapons lining the walls: every instrument of death from flamethrowers to firearms—though Heinkel had eyes only for the guns.

Surveying them with a critical eye, she saw with satisfaction that none were half as impressive as her own weapons, though they'd do in a pinch. Eyeing a particularly large shotgun, Heinkel briefly fantasized about using it on Dorian; she would never waste her own ammunition on the old codger—nor on the rest of these cretins.

According to Seras, they were the few who had (somehow) managed to survive the Third Blitz of London as well as Millenium's various attacks on Hellsing's headquarters; but judging from their performance so far, this was their only qualification. No matter; Heinkel doubted the newbies would last much longer—if they didn't run screaming for the hills, that is.

Though most of the recruits gawked at their surroundings like schoolchildren at a fair, pointing and whispering in voices that were still far too loud for Heinkel's liking, one man—a sturdily built gentleman with greying hair—examined her instead. Heinkel stared back stoically, noting the moment he observed her injury. To his credit, the man's face remained impassive, though he did blink more rapidly than usual.

 _Maybe the new-comers aren't completely spineless, after all…_

"Excuse me, but who are _they_?"

The young woman who had elbowed her way to the front wrinkled her nose at Seras as though smelling something foul; the vampire offered her a smile, but the woman did not return it. Dorian sighed, his expression suggesting this wasn't her first complaint.

Unwilling to be patronized by someone who had likely never seen a battlefield, Heinkel favored the speaker with her best scowl; unfortunately, this had no effect. The woman, who sported hair dyed a blinding magenta and enough makeup to supply an entire troop of clowns, simply tossed her neon locks, clearly thrilled to be the center of attention (though Heinkel suspected this had more to do with her appearance than the merits of her question).

His expression resigned, Dorian answered, "Ms. Victoria and Ms. Wolfe are Hellsing operatives who will assist in your training." As an afterthought, he added, "Ms. Victoria is a vampire, and Ms. Wolfe is a Catholic."

The woman sputtered, clearly at a loss—though her outrage was clear. Dorian watched calmly, but Heinkel didn't think she was imagining the amusement in his eyes.

She stifled a smirk. _Not so high and might now, are we?_ For once, Heinkel was on the old man's side.

"Hello!" Seras offered the group a grin, causing Heinkel to wonder how she managed to be so chipper all the time—except for the episode of a moment ago, of course. "It's nice to meet you all."

There was a long silence as the recruits stared, trying to reconcile the image of an undead bloodsucker with the bubbly blonde before them. Finally, Dorian spoke. "We'd best get going. There's still much to do…"

"We are nothing without him."

Though Zorin spoke matter of factly, her eyes betrayed her despair: an emotion shared by all gathered around the Major's favorite "war table". Of course, only his most trusted lieutenants were present for this meeting; the few surviving soldiers had been ordered to stand guard. But one chair remained empty; all eyes were drawn to it, as if anticipating its owner's return.

"Then what do you propose, Blitz?" The Doctor snapped, squeezing his scalpel so tightly the instrument snapped in half. "We cannot abandon Herr Major's mission; we cannot fail him. I _will_ not."

"But none of us can possibly take his place!" Zorin's fist hit the table so hard it rattled.  
"We will never be worthy of such an honor—and we cannot continue without a leader."

"Who said anything about losing our leader?" At the sound of Schrodinger's voice, the others stopped glaring at each other long enough to focus on the boy, who preened under their gazes. "The Major may be dead, but he is far from gone."

The Doctor snapped, "What are you saying, boy? If it were possible to resurrect him, I would have already done so."

But Schrodinger only laughed: a jarring sound in this somber atmosphere. "Your machines cannot defeat death, Herr Doktor, but I know someone who can…"


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

 _The more we do to you, the less you seem to believe we are doing it.-_ Josef Mengele

"Is _this_ the best you have to offer in defense of queen and country? Pathetic."

Dorian glared at the recruits who formed a ragged line in front of him; they alternately glared back or stared fixedly at the floor, failing to conceal their exhaustion after yet another grueling training session. Seras hovered nearby, clearly disapproving of the butler's harsh tactics. For once, though, Heinkel agreed with him; gentleness wouldn't get them anywhere with these blockheads. And if Dorian wanted to make himself (even more) unpopular, she wasn't going to stop him.

Instead, as the lesson dragged on, she lounged in the corner, struggling not to doze off; Heinkel hadn't really rested since the night Yumie died. Falling asleep in the middle of Dorian's lecture was tempting, if only because it would piss him off even more, but it would also give him more ammunition against her—not that he needed any; her position was precarious enough…

With a sigh, Heinkel forced herself to concentrate on the butler's harangue. _At least I'm not tied up, listening to a terrorist rant about the wrath of Allah…_ The memory made her lips twitch; as excruciating at the experience had been, Yumie's presence (and her theological debates with their captors) had made it bearable.

As Dorian droned on, the girl with the bad dye job elbowed her partner and whispered with a pointed glare at Heinkel, quickly assuaging any guilt she may have felt over leaving the newbies to his mercy.

 _What a freak: Catholic_ and _a cripple. What could we possibly learn from her?_

Apparently, Dorian hadn't bothered to inform them Heinkel could read lips. _That ungrateful little…_ Her pulse pounded in her ears as she resisted the impulse to throttle the twat until her face was as blotchy as her hair; that would teach her a valuable lesson indeed.

But that was impossible for the moment; Seras would intervene at the first hint of violence. No matter; there would be time for revenge later. Heinkel was a very patient woman, as all her enemies eventually discovered. Catching the woman's eye, her lips twisted in an eerie facsimile of a smile.

Dorian glowered at the nearest recruit, a scrawny twenty-something who took a hasty step back, clearly concerned the old man would act on his anger. "None of you seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. If this were a real mission, you would all be dead!"

 _Couldn't have said it better myself._

Maybe Dorian was human after all. Heinkel had never imagined him caring about anything other than linens and tea leaves, but now his face was red, fists clenched as he scowled at his students. Could it be that he actually _cared_ about teaching these greenhorns to fight?

Then again, maybe the butler was simply insulted Integra had relegated him to the role of school teacher—but somehow, Heinkel didn't think so. Regardless of the source of Dorian's anger, it was refreshing to see him scowling at someone else for a change—and at his fellow Protestants, no less. If Integra could see him now, she'd likely reconsider her choice of instructor…

The red head, unintimidated by the butler's tirade, rolled her eyes. "That's because none of us have _been_ on a real mission."

Dorian's eyes narrowed; and Heinkel noted they had something else in common: a disdain for this girl and her insufferable attitude.

"I see." His voice was soft, but the steel behind it was unmistakable. "Are you suggesting I bring you—a civilian with little training and even less experience—on a mission? You are useless in combat; if we were attacked, you would be a hindrance rather than a help."

Heinkel smirked. _Nice pep talk, old man._

The girl sputtered a response, but Dorian continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Naturally, I refuse to jeopardize Hellsing—and its sacred mission—to soothe your ego. I trust you understand."

By this point, the girl's face nearly matched her hair, but she managed a nod.

Dorian blinked at her acquiescence, his fury fading. "Good. For, despite your failings, you—his gesture encompassed them all, even Heinkel—are all Hellsing has left. You are all Britain has left."

His features reverting to his usual polite mask, Dorian glanced at his watch. "You are dismissed—but only because it is almost tea time."

Without having to be told twice, the recruits rushed out of the room; no doubt they feared Dorian would change his mind—though Heinkel sensed the lesson had exhausted the old man more than he let on. Heinkel followed at a leisurely pace, Seras at her heels. Dorian had already vanished, probably to prepare Integra's tea.

Heinkel smirked. _Angel of Death indeed._

It was impossible to picture the stolid Englishman in battle or indeed, anywhere besides the Hellsing mansion; Dorian blended so smoothly into Integra's home that it seemed he'd always been there, along with the ugly wallpaper and satin drapes.

Walter was the same—and yet, Yumie had died at his hands. Heinkel had briefly entertained thoughts of digging up the old man's corpse and pumping it full of lead, but was forced to abandon the idea as impractical.

After all, Integra would become suspicious if Heinkel questioned her about Walter's final resting place, since the two had spent their brief acquaintance loathing each other. Besides, revenge on a dead man was so unsatisfying; and even Yumie would balk at desecrating a cadaver.

Instead, Heinkel would hunt down the Nazis who had poisoned Walter's mind, enticed him to evil with the promise of immortality, and rip out their hearts while they still beat. Then they would join him in hell...The thought made her grin, despite the agony of her ruined flesh.

"Heinkel?"

Heinkel flinched; she had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she had forgotten the draculina's presence. "What do…you want?"

Seras watched her for a long moment, blue eyes wary. "Don't let the darkness consume you." With that, she melted into the shadows.

 _What the hell is_ that _supposed to mean? Sleeping in a coffin all day must have scrambled her brain._

Heinkel stalked toward the library where Integra waited, ignoring the part of her that recognized the truth of Seras' words.

 _If you give in to the hatred,_ it whispered, _you will be no better than the monsters you hunt; and like them, there will be no place for you in heaven._

Desperate to dispel these thoughts, Heinkel yanked open the library door, which crashed against the wall with a sound that made her wince. Integra sat in an armchair by the fire; at Heinkel's abrupt entrance, she raised a brow but said nothing. Seras stood beside her; the draculina watched Heinkel, gaze heavy with meaning, but Heinkel ignored her. She'd had enough apocalyptic pronouncements for one day…

"Where is Dorian?" Integra frowned, glancing impatiently at the doorway as though the mere force of her will should summon the wayward butler.

Heinkel shrugged and sank into the chair farthest from Integra, so exhausted that the prospect of relaxing in the presence of her sworn enemies barely distressed her.

 _Spoiled bitch can't wait five minutes for her tea,_ part of her grumbled, but her heart wasn't in it.

"I see." Integra's lips pursed as though she'd tasted something bitter. "Walter was always punctual. Well, I suppose we needn't wait; Dorian has already been debriefed."

Despite herself, Heinkel felt a flicker of annoyance. _Integra told the butler her secrets before us, her own soldiers? How does she even know he's trustworthy? Dorian could be a spy, waiting for the right moment to betray Hellsing._

 _Like you…_ The voice in her head murmured; Heinkel responded with an epithet that would make even Alucard blush.

Without further ado, Integra began to speak. "It seems the London Massacre was not enough bloodshed for some, as a person—or persons—unknown is murdering women who break the city curfew. The bodies appear in the Thames the next morning, wrists and throat slashed, drained completely of blood. The coroner tells me their deaths were slow and agonizing."

Though her voice was glacial, Heinkel saw the fury in Integra's eyes, hotter than the flames of hell itself. Whatever her faults, the leader of Hellsing loved her city, and she would do anything to protect it.

Suddenly, Heinkel remembered the girl from the club, the one they'd rescued from her deadly date. Had she made it home safely—or had she been snatched off the street, died in pain and alone? Maybe it would have been better to let the vampire have his way with her.

Seras said, "Even though there are no fang marks, a vampire could be involved. Maybe he's trying to disguise his work." Despite her attempt at detachment, the draculina's voice shook with rage.

"It's possible." Integra adjusted her glasses, lenses gleaming in the firelight. "But Millennium's manufactured nosferatu are no more; and they are the only ones I can imagine behaving so recklessly. Besides, the deaths are too…tidy, for a vampire. I believe someone—or something—else is involved."

Seras nodded, accepting her leader's pronouncement without question, as any good soldier would—though Heinkel was surprised to find she agreed with Integra's observation. "What are your orders, Sir?"

Hellsing's commander rose to her feet, towering over the women waiting for her command. "Find the culprit, and bring him to me…alive."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

 _Cruelty commands respect. Men may hate us. But, we don't ask for their love; only for their fear._ -Heinrich Himmler

Heinkel prowled down a dim London street, melting into the shadows as adeptly as any vampire, Andersen's voice echoing in her ears. _Become one with the dark—or it will eat you alive_.

For the first time, Heinkel wondered if her mentor's words had a hidden meaning, if they referred to a metaphorical darkness as well. Had, Andersen, too, battled bloodlust and hatred? It seemed almost sacrilegious to question the holiness of a priest, and an esteemed mentor at that, but the observation failed to quell Heinkel's curiosity.

Annoyed with herself for becoming distracted—Andersen had taught her to always remain alert, _in addition to respecting your superiors_ , part of her noted snidely—Heinkel dismissed these questions with a shake of her head, forcing herself to focus on keeping her footsteps silent and posture perfect, though both had long become second nature.

Her earpiece emitted a burst of static, making her flinch; Heinkel scowled as she strained to decipher Integra's words through the din. Given her family's vast fortune, surely the woman could afford espionage equipment that worked.

"Report." Sir Integra snapped, her tone haughty enough to awe the archbishop himself.

Rolling her eyes, Heinkel bit back a retort. _For Christ's sake, we've only just left the mansion._ But her irritation mingled with a grudging respect. Integra may be a bitch, but at least she never pretended otherwise; what you saw was what you got. Unlike Maxwell…

Damn these Protestants. Why was it so hard to hate them?

Unsettled by this revelation, Heinkel glared at the microphone attached to her robes as though it were responsible for all her woes. "Nothing to report."

Though Integra couldn't see her—fortunately for Heinkel's sanity, her superior was satisfied with barking commands—Heinkel's irritation was obvious. Not that Integra cared, of course, but Heinkel was sick of Seras' optimistic attitude (and the whole mission, really); if she didn't vent, there was a good chance she'd go off on her partner instead, ruining their chances of apprehending their quarry.

They'd been roaming London's seediest districts since sundown, but so far, all Heinkel had to show for it was aching feet and a headache from her partner's incessant chatter. At least Seras had the sense to whisper—though that didn't make her frivolous remarks any less annoying. Heinkel had never cared much about clothing, but it was particularly galling to endure a fashion lecture from someone who herself was hardly dressed.

Heinkel gritted her teeth, ignoring the way her cheek throbbed in protest. _I thought vampires were supposed to be stoic._

She almost missed Alucard's eerie presence; at least _he_ knew when to shut up. Maybe Seras wasn't so difficult to despise after all…

The only thing that prevented Heinkel from telling the draculina to shut her pie hole was the knowledge that it would seem strange for two young women breaking curfew to do so in silence; most girls giggled, thrilled by their own daring and the prospect of adventure. That didn't mean she had to respond to Seras' blather, though; the blonde talked enough for them both. Heinkel would have a difficult time getting a word in even if she wanted to…

As if in response to her thoughts, Seras materialized at her elbow; Heinkel swallowed an oath at the vampire's sudden appearance as she discovered yet another reason to despise her new partner (besides her habit of sneaking up on people): the draculina didn't need an earpiece, since her supernatural senses enabled her to overhear every word the others said.

Adding insult to injury, the other girl, despite her lack of training, was better at camouflaging herself than Heinkel would ever be; somehow, Seras remained invisible even while jabbering away, only reappearing whenever footsteps signaled the approach of a possible suspect.

Heinkel, by contrast, required careful concentration to stay hidden—a focus sorely tested by Seras' prattle. How unfair that invisibility had been squandered on someone who would never appreciate it!

If _she_ possessed such a gift, Heinkel vowed, she would use it to hide her face from the world, carry out her divine mission from the shadows. No one need see her ruined features, while _she_ would never need to see the pitying expressions she had come to despise, the fear and suspicion in the eyes of the very people she worked to protect. If she were invisible, though, people would know her for what she truly was—their savior, an avenging angel—and nothing more.

Seras smiled, seemingly oblivious to both Heinkel's annoyance and the grim nature of their mission; Heinkel didn't know whether to be exasperated or amused at her foolishness. _From the way_ she's _acting, you'd think we were on a girls' night out. Then again, this is probably the closest she's come in a long time…_

Seras must have had friends, once, she mused. What were they like? Did they know what had become of her? Did someone care for Seras like a sister, the way she felt about Yumie? The thought made her throat tighten.

"Hello, Master!" Seras chirped, still annoyingly chipper. "Heinkel is right; the streets are quiet tonight. So far, we've only seen drunks and vagrants."

Integra harrumphed, as though the killer were deliberately wasting her precious time by failing to attack them punctually. "Very well. You will alert me at the first sign of trouble."

Seras saluted, prompting another eye roll from Heinkel. "Yes, sir!"

As they passed one of the few streetlights illuminating the avenue, carefully skirting the pool of yellow light on the pavement, Heinkel bowed her head, eager to cast her face into deeper shadow despite the glamor Seras had cast. The Church firmly forbade all forms of magic…but she was playing by different rules now.

Heinkel had squirmed under the draculina's penetrating gaze as Seras constructed the illusion; when it was finished, the mirror that showed a fresh-faced girl with unblemished skin staring back at her.

Heinkel's crucifix, guns, and black robes had vanished, seemingly replaced by a little black dress that barely covered her, though Heinkel could still feel their weight, solid and reassuring, against her skin. Reflexively, she reached for her guns, only relaxing when she felt the shock of cool metal.

"I look like…a prostitute."

Seras' eyes widened, as though it had never occurred to her that Heinkel might object to dressing as skimpily as herself. "I had to make it look like you were going clubbing. You'd attract much more attention in _that_." The draculina wrinkled her nose at the thought. Besides," Seras added, with a conspiratorial wink, "beinga lady of the night isn't all _bad_."

With that, she vanished to perfect her own disguise.

Alone once more, Heinkel had gazed at her reflection for a long time, trying to imagine what life would have been like had she been the girl in the mirror: a girl with a mother and father who loved her, brothers to protect her and sisters to share secrets with. Would that girl have fallen in love? Gotten married? Had children?

With an effort, Heinkel tore her gaze from the image, clenching her fists until the knuckles whitened. Her nails dug into her palms, causing the scabbed crescents there to bleed, but she hardly felt the pain.

 _That girl never existed—and she never will._ Indulging in fantasy would bring nothing but regret.Deliberately, Heinkel turned the mirror to face the wall. The less time she spent staring at this false face, the better.

When Seras finally returned, sporting dark hair and grey eyes in an unsettling echo of Yumie, she glanced at the mirror in surprise, eyes flickering with some strong emotion before reverting to her usual cheerful expression.

"We'd better get going." Was all she said, smoothing her new hair self-consciously. "It's almost curfew."

Heinkel nodded, but she couldn't look away from Seras' features. The draculina's face was far from identical to Yumie's, but in the twilight, it was possible to imagine her friend had returned, that her death had only been an illusion, a clever sleight of hand she would brag about for months.

 _I can't believe you thought I was dead_. Yumie would say with a smirk. _Well, what can I say? It's your fault for being so gullible…_

Suddenly Heinkel missed Yumie so much it hurt, longed fiercely for her best friend, the only person who had truly broached the barrier around her heart, accepted her for who she truly was; no one could ever replace her—especially not a dumb diva from the boondocks.

Seras stared back, her gaze somber, as if she could read Heinkel's thoughts—and then her hair lightened to a strawberry blonde, eyes changing to sea foam green. When all traces of Yumiko were gone, the draculina melted into the shadows; her eyes were the last to go, gleaming ruby-red in the dimness before they, too, vanished.

"Keep your eyes peeled." Her disembodied voice reminded Heinkel—as if _she_ , an agent of Iscariot, needed reminding.

Anyway, Heinkel had always hated the expression; it conjured images of eyeballs in a jar, plucked from their owners like fruit from the vine. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she whipped around, eschewing caution, but there was nothing behind them except cracked cobblestone and cigarette stubs. This did nothing to alleviate her unease, however; the air felt heavy, almost electric, and Heinkel's skin itched as though invisible spiders scuttled over it. Something was coming for them—and it would arrive soon.

Her earpiece crackled again. "Oh, and Heinkel."

What did the woman want _now_? "Yes?"

"Be careful."

Was it her imagination, or did Integra sound less confident than usual?

Heinkel straightened, one hand straying to her gun barrel, as it always did when she was nervous. Surprising them both, she offered no retort, only answered, "I will." With that, Heinkel hurried after her partner, both women oblivious to the dark shape that slunk after them.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Eight

 _Keep a very firm grasp on reality, so you can strangle it at any time_.-Adolph Hitler

There was a sound behind them—the slightest noise, hardly detectable even to the trained ear—and Heinkel began to turn, but then pain bloomed against her skull and she fell forward into darkness.

She returned to consciousness slowly, her body resisting awareness and the throbbing headache that awaited her there. With her eyes closed and mind blank, it was easy to pretend that she was in her old bed in the heart of Vatican City. Yumie was at the window, sharpening her sword…

 _Yumie is dead._

Sorrow, sharp as the moment she'd witnessed her friend's demise, instantly pierced Heinkel's malaise; her eyes flew open, causing light to sear her eyelids and her head to pound as though some demonic drummer played inside her skull. Heinkel immediately screwed them shut again, biting her tongue to stifle a curse.

 _Don't be such a wimp._ Yumie's voice scolded.

Forcing her eyes open again, Heinkel blinked furiously until they stopped watering, galvanized by anger at her own stupidity. The point of the mission had been to catch the killer—not to be caught themselves!

 _I'm never going to hear the end of this._

With an effort, she heaved herself upright, ignoring the way her muscles protested—and noticed her surroundings for the first time, jaw dropping at the sight. It sent a twinge through her ruined cheek, but Heinkel was too stunned to care.

She had awoken in a dark, cavernous space, with ceilings so high they blended into the shadows. The only illumination came from the massive hearth in the center of the room, where a roaring fire crackled—though from where she sat, Heinkel could not feel its warmth. The stone floor was damp, making her shiver even through her robes.

Firelight formed ghostly shapes on the walls, flickering over bookcases full to bursting with ancient tomes, countertops strewn with bubbling beakers and gleaming instruments, vials of blood and jars of organs. It was the lair of a madman.

"A mad _woman_ , actually."

A figure emerged from the gloom, stopping just in front of Heinkel. She'd expected her kidnapper to be a man with bulging muscles and a vicious smile, ready to carve her up like a Sunday roast. But the person examining her with unabashed curiosity was a frumpy middle-aged woman with the round spectacles and conservative clothing of a school marm; she had no weapon Heinkel could see.

Lounging against a cupboard lined with skulls, the woman smirked at Heinkel's shocked expression. _She obviously doesn't get a lot of visitors._

"Don't worry, dear; I can't read _all_ your thoughts—that would be exhausting—only the loudest ones. And as for the décor, I inherited the place. Personally, I favor a more ascetic look, but I haven't the time to redecorate."

 _Surely this old biddy didn't abduct me. She's human, and a mere civilian at that!_

Heinkel craned her neck, scouring the room for other occupants, but if they were there, they had hidden themselves well. She'd worry about that later; first, she must neutralize the civilian. Though her companion seemed harmless, her gaze made Heinkel's skin crawl, and she couldn't be allowed to raise the alarm once Heinkel escaped. She reached for her gun…only to be met with empty air.

The woman tsked as though Heinkel were a mischievous child. "How rude, trying to shoot me in my own home. I expected more from you."

She leaned closer, like they were sharing a secret; Heinkel wrinkled her nose at the smell of rot, mingled with something sickly sweet. It smelled like…death. Her stomach twisting, she glanced at the glass jars. Had their contents once belonged to girls like her?

Misinterpreting her expression, the woman confided, "Between you and me, your toys would be useless against my magic. You really ought to thank me for sparing you the embarrassment."

"Magic?" Heinekel croaked, the jars forgotten. Although her mouth tasted like metal and her tongue felt several sizes too swollen, she managed a laugh. "You…can't be serious."

True, she'd seen Seras cast a spell just a few short hours ago—but only vampires and a few highly trained humans could perform acts of sorcery. This woman reminded her less of a witch, and more of a Harry Potter fan gone wrong.

"Of course I am." Her captor huffed, seeming genuinely offended that Heinkel doubted her magical abilities. "How else do you think I brought you here?"

 _A combination of luck and hitting me on the head with a blunt object?_

Heinkel considered pointing out that no amount of Halloween décor spawned magical abilities, but it wasn't worth the effort. Obviously, someone didn't have all her cups in the cupboard. Besides, her companion would soon find out how useless her "magic" was against Heinkel's fists…Her anger rose as she thought of the wasted hours she'd lain unconscious; the civilian would be lucky to survive the encounter with her face intact. No doubt Seras was frantically searching for her.

In one smooth motion, Heinkel rose to her feet and lunged, fists eager to collide with the woman's doughy flesh. Instead, she collided with something else: an invisible wall that caged her just inches from her captor's smiling face.

Staggering backwards, head throbbing anew, Heinkel braced herself, lunging again...and again...and again. But if she moved more than a few feet in any given direction, she hit the barrier: smooth, unyielding, and utterly transparent. When she had finally exhausted herself, she sank to the ground, every muscle protesting, pulse thundering in her ears.

Shaking her head, the woman propped her hands on her hips. "I _did_ warn you."

Her patronizing tone made Heinkel long to claw her eyes out, but she settled for snarling, "What the hell…did you do?"

 _There has to be a rational explanation; there's no way this matron is a witch. She should be at a gardening club or a tea party—not_ here _._

Her companion threw out her hands with a flourish, as though she were a performer and Heinkel, the audience. "Only a simple binding spell—and yet, a barrier utterly impervious to mere humans. So you see, I _am_ an enchantress!"

As if to confirm her words, a calico cat emerged from the shadows, twining around her ankles with a plaintive meow. When the woman leaned down to scratch it behind the ears, the room filled with the animal's rumbling purr.

Heinkel gritted her teeth so hard they ached _. I don't have time for this foolishness._ How long had she been unconscious, anyway? She had no idea if it was even still night; the room had no windows and she hadn't thought to bring a watch. Magic or no magic, she had to get out of here.

If only she had paid closer attention during the hostage negotiation seminar; then she would know how to convince this basket case to release her. Then again, maybe not; Heinkel had never heard of a protocol for when _you_ were the captive.

Nevertheless, she had to give it her best shot; after all, no one else was coming to save her. Yumie was six feet under now, not waiting to rush in, sword drawn; and Seras was probably still wandering the streets of London, believing Heinkel had abandoned her. For some reason, the thought rankled her more than she cared to admit.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to bite back the rude things she longed to say to her captor—after all, insults wouldn't win her any brownie points. And there would be plenty of time for that once she escaped.

"I'm sorry…for doubting you." Heinkel hunched her shoulders, attempting to look small and weak, disoriented rather than cunning. "Please…let me go. I won't…tell anyone."

As if sensing her desperation, the cat padded towards her, tail in the air. Then the woman waved a hand in its direction, almost carelessly, and the animal was lifted into the air by some unseen force, mewling desperately as it scrabbled at nothing with its paws.

The woman observed its misery for a moment, then lowered her hand as though she might release it. Instead, with a flick of her wrist, she hurled her pet into the nearest bookcase; the cat hit the wood with a sickening thud and was still.

Heinkel's entire body was shaking: not with fear, but with rage. She'd been kidnapped and forced to endure pointless monologues before, but the witch's casual abuse of her pet was another matter entirely. She thought of Greta, the starving, orphaned kitten she'd befriended when Heinkel herself was alone and unwanted, and felt her rage build until it consumed her.

 _This bitch is going to pay._

The witch examined her hand with a frown, clearly concerned she'd pulled a muscle in abusing her cat. Then she returned her attention to Heinkel, with a satisfied smile that irked her almost badly as the cat's crumpled form, lying on the floor.

"Terribly sorry, my dear. But you know how pets are; they can be _so_ demanding. Now, what were you saying? You wanted me to release you?" The witch shook her head sadly, as though the thought pained her, but her eyes gleamed, giving her away.

"I'd love to rid myself of you; truly, I would. After all, you _are_ an unpleasant guest—and so ungrateful. But then, I'd be forced to expend unnecessary time and effort catching another girl, when you'll do just as well."

"For _what_?" Screw politeness; Heinkel's patience was wearing thin.

The witch regarded her over the rim of her spectacles, annoyance replaced by a cold and calculating gaze that chilled Heinkel to the bone; suddenly, she missed her weapons so badly it hurt. Silence stretched between them until Heinkel was ready to scream; instead, she focused on not blinking, determined not to show the dread that had wrapped its tendrils around her heart.

At last, the witch spoke: making Heinkel regret she'd ever opened her mouth. "It's a simple procedure, really: I'm going to drain your blood."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

 _Those who want to live, let them fight, and those who do not want to fight in this world of eternal struggle do not deserve to live._ -Adolph Hitler

The silence stretched for a long moment before Heinkel began to laugh. She was well aware this wasn't exactly an appropriate response, but the entire situation was so ludicrous that it was impossible to contain her amusement. Missions with Yumie had been fraught with danger, even exhilarating, but she'd never found one funny before.

How odd.

Then again, Heinkel had never experienced anything quite like this before, either: snatched from the streets of a city she'd sworn never to grace with her presence, by a creature whose existence she would have denied only a moment ago. If Heinkel hadn't felt so utterly awake, she'd wonder if Dorian had drugged her tea.

Aside from a slight furrowing of her brow, the witch showed no reaction to Heinkel's hilarity; she was probably used to people laughing at her. Likely none of her victims had taken her seriously, either—until it was too late…

"I suppose it _is_ an odd request. I could have performed the procedure while you were unconscious, but that would have been rather inconsiderate, don't you think?"

Heinkel stifled a snort. _How thoughtful of her._

"And if I refuse?"

Her amusement disappearing as quickly as it had come, Heinkel scrutinized her companion's features as she waited for the witch's reaction. Most people didn't go to such trouble for a practical joke or warped fantasy, but you never knew. Hadn't this wacko ever heard of a blood bank? It certainly would have saved her a great deal of pain.

The witch smiled: a baring of teeth rather a friendly gesture. Heinkel's skin prickled as she realized she, too, had been fooled by that matronly exterior. The woman may look motherly, but there was nothing but murder in her eyes now.

"You wouldn't be the first, dear—but this is mere courtesy on my part. Whether you reject or embrace your fate, you _will_ die tonight."

Though her voice was pleasant, the woman's expression was deadly serious; Heinkel thought of the many infidels she'd faced, their faces alight with hatred and bloodlust, and suppressed a shiver; no zealot had ever unnerved her so much as this woman. Of course, none of them had possessed magical abilities, either—but it wasn't witchcraft that rattled her.

Rather, it was the sensation of powerlessness, the awful knowledge that she could do nothing against the witch's spells. No bullets or perfectly thrown punches could help her now; for the first time in her life, Heinkel regretted being human. It was a horrible sensation.

 _I know I promised never to give up, Yumie…but I've never faced an enemy like_ this _._

Despair threatening to overwhelm her, Heinkel searched frantically for a weapon, an escape route, anything at all; naturally, there was nothing. Not that it would have mattered; even in the unlikely event that she'd succeeded, Heinkel would still be trapped like a sheep in its pen, waiting for slaughter. Where was Seras when you needed her?

Clasping the cross she'd worn since childhood, she closed her eyes, begging God to deliver her from this evildoer, or, if her time had come, to welcome her sinful soul into His kingdom. The afterlife had always been an abstract concept, an obscure theological detail, but now it loomed, an abyss ready to devour her. Heinkel was far from ready to leave this world—but like the witch, death needed no permission.

Someone cleared their throat, jolting her out of her prayer-induced trance. "Nice place you have here."

 _Seras?_

Heinkel whirled around in time to see the draculina emerge from the shadows, an unfamiliar gleam in her eye. If she didn't know better, she'd say her partner was angry—but that was impossible. Why would Seras care about her well-being? She'd likely be relieved to replace Heinkel with a more tractable partner. All the same, the vampire had rescued her, despite Heinkel's rudeness, even outright contempt; she would not forget this.

In an attempt to hide her relief, she snapped, "Took you long enough." Heinkel might be grateful—but Seras didn't need to know that.

Seras' cheeks reddened. "Sorry about that; I had a bit of trouble penetrating her defenses." For the first time, Heinkel noticed that her glamour was gone and her uniform, singed.

The witch chuckled indulgently, as though Seras were a child whose antics were particularly amusing. "Did you, now? Then you haven't the slightest chance of defeating me; those spells were so simple, a child could dismantle them. Best to go home while all your limbs are still intact."

Seras' eyes narrowed. "I'd be happy to…as soon as you release my partner."

"Such a pity; I _did_ try to be nice."

The witch snapped her fingers, and a ball of fire burst into existence, hovering beside her like a gargantuan firefly. It hurled towards Seras, moving so quickly that Heinkel's eyes couldn't keep up. But the draculina nimbly dodged the attack; and the missile struck the wall behind her, exploding in a shower of sparks.

The witch's eyes narrowed; and she studied Seras as though seeing her for the first time. "I thought there was something different about you. What does a vampire want with the likes of _her_? There are better meals."

 _That old hag! As soon as I get out of here, I'm going to throttle her!_

Seras' own eyes were inscrutable as she answered, "That's none of your concern. Release her at once, or I will have no choice but to use force." Now nothing remained of the giddy girl Heinkel had come to know; she felt a surge of some emotion, perilously close to…respect.

The witch laughed: a lilting sound that, nevertheless, set Heinkel's teeth on edge. "How noble of you to defend your friend—I suppose I'll just have to take both of you."

Seras stiffened, though Heinkel suspected it had less to do with the impending battle and more with the implication that she, a devout Protestant and loyal member of Hellsing, would ever be friends with a Catholic: her sworn enemy.

She realized then just how easy it would have been for Seras to abandon her, tell Sir Integra that Dorian's device had failed or Heinkel had perished in combat, yet another of the witch's victims. No ties bound the women: not friendship, respect, or even understanding.

In fact, the two were as diametrically opposed as people could possibly be—no, even more so, since Seras wasn't even human. So why was she here, defending someone who meant nothing to her? Why didn't she just walk away? Surely Seras wasn't so afraid of Sir Integra that she would risk her own skin just to save Heinkel…would she? Strangely, some part of Heinkel hoped it wasn't so.

 _Stupid!_ She gave her head a sharp shake, willing herself to concentrate. _We don't have time for such foolishness._

"This is your last chance." Seras warned. "Let her go."

The witch yawned.

And then the ground beneath Seras vanished and she tumbled into blackness, the shadows swallowing her before Heinkel could so much as blink, watching wide-eyed as her partner vanished. Once the floor had solidified, the witch turned to Heinkel with a satisfied smirk.

"Now, where were we?"

Her hands curling into fists, Heinkel glared; the cross dug into her palm until it drew blood, but she hardly noticed. Her entire being was focused on the smug features before her, as she yearned with every fiber of her being to pummel them to a blood pulp.

"Give her back." She was surprised to find that she meant it, and not just because Sera was her only chance at rescue.

The witch raised an eyebrow. "Whatever for? You're just her food supply—"

Rage rushed through her: the first emotion Heinkel had really felt since Yumie's death. She embraced the feeling, willing it to consume her—anything to escape the numbness. Without thinking, she flung herself against the barrier, heedless of pain or humiliation, caring only that the enemy was on the other side.

When Heinkel collided with the wall, it was unyielding as ever, but, blinded by fury, she struck it again and again until, almost imperceptibly, the barrier began to weaken. With a cry of frustration, Heinkel pushed even harder, desperate to be free...and then she was staggering forward, her cage gone. Heinkel met the witch's eyes—and for the first time, saw fear there.

She grinned. "Sorry, but I'm afraid…I'll have to…decline your offer."

Before the witch could react, Heinkel sprang towards her, slamming the woman against the wall with an audible crack of stone on flesh. The woman watched through unfocused eyes as Heinkel's hands encircled her throat. She couldn't kill the bitch—not yet, anyway—but Andersen had taught her the art of inflicting excruciating pain.

 _She will pay for her insolence._

Heinkel watched with satisfaction as the witch's face darkened, hands scrabbling weakly at the fingers that closed around her neck like iron bands. The bitch deserved to hurt, to experience her victims' agony, discover the terror of staring death in the face. Only God Himself knew how many she'd murdered...

But rather than cowering in fear or begging for her life, the witch stared at Heinkel as though she had just made some amazing discovery. "You shouldn't be able to destroy my spell." She croaked, somehow managing to speak despite her constricted airway. "No human could defy my magic; you are one of us."

With that, she vanished; Heinkel's fingers clutched at empty air and she spun around, thinking it was a trap—but the room remained empty. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she cursed the wasted combat opportunity. What were the odds that she'd lose her partner _and_ her opponent in the same night?

The witch's familiar, apparently recovered from its earlier encounter, struggled to its feet; spotting Heinkel, it emitted a pitiful meow. She eyed the animal suspiciously, waiting for it to spew fire or sprout a second head, but it only began to lick its wounds. Removing her handkerchief from her pocket, Heinkel approached the cat, which paused its ministrations to watch warily.

"Don't worry." She murmured. "I won't hurt you."

 _No matter what the witch says, I am nothing like her._


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

 _If you win, you need not have to explain...If you lose, you should not be there to explain!― Adolf Hitler_

 _January 1943_

 _Hans couldn't remember when the Nazis had come; it bothered him immeasurably that he couldn't recall that moment: the instant the fragile balance of the Weimar Republic shifted in the fascists' favor, German democracy vanishing as quickly as it had appeared._

 _Perhaps it was buried in his subconscious, hidden among scraps of memory: recollections of school days past, the lyrics to "Das Deutschlandlied", images of their old apartment on Kaiserdamm. There were darker memories, too: women pushing wheelbarrows full of marks just to buy a loaf of bread, soldiers with haunted eyes and missing limbs, bayonets stabbing a flailing form until it lay still._

 _Hans longed for the innocence of childhood, that carefree time when he remained blissfully unaware of the darkness to come, when he'd believed people could be trusted, that good would always triumph over evil._

 _Oh, how he would have laughed if someone had told him the truth: that Hitler would change everything, that one man would, in the space of a few years, destroy a nation it had taken centuries to build, tarnishing the Motherland's legacy with cruelty and suffering. Even had he been warned, however, Hans never would have been prepared for this…mockery of the land he loved._

 _His hands curling into fists, he wished for the thousandth time that he were old enough to fight—though not for the Third Reich. Given the chance, Hans would gladly have followed the example of his cousin, Friedrich, who'd defected to the Allies at the first opportunity. But he was only fourteen, and small for his age; recruiters from the Wehrmacht, though desperate for new recruits, had laughed when the boy offered his services._

" _We'd be better off taking our chances with a Jew!"_

 _It was the ultimate insult in the eyes of many of his countrymen—but Hans knew who the real monsters were; the Hebrews were simply scapegoats, convenient targets meant to distract the people from the Nazis' terror and bloodshed._

 _Staring into the flames that flickered on the hearth, he imagined the Nazis burning, writhing with the pain they'd inflicted on so many. He thought of Jewish businesses looted, the proprietors watching helplessly as mobs carted away their livelihood; frenzied rallies, the crowds calling for blood and death; the constant fear, everyone bracing himself for a knock on the door and the stony faces of the Gestapo._

 _There was a sound behind him—the barest whisper of feet against the worn floorboards—and Hans whirled around, one hand clutching the pistol Father had given him for just such an occasion. "They may take you anyway," he'd said, "but give them hell, son."_

 _Hans swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. I will make you proud, Father. Taking a deep breath, he aimed at the silhouette in the doorway…_

" _Don't shoot!" The shadow whispered, extending its hands in supplication. "It's only me."_

 _Hans scowled, heart thundering in his chest as he slowly lowered the weapon. "You know better than to scare me like that, Leni."_

" _You were afraid?" His sister flashed him an impish grin._

" _Of course I was! I thought..."_

 _Hans shook his head, the fear that had gripped him just moments before receding, replaced by the weariness that never seemed to leave him these days. "Never mind." Strange, how exhausting it was to be frightened all the time; sometimes he longed to fall asleep and never wake. But what would happen to Leni then? He'd promised to protect her._

 _His sister's face darkened; and Hans was struck by how ancient she seemed, this girl who had yet to reach her tenth birthday. "Even if the Gestapo_ did _come, I wouldn't let them have you."_

 _The idea of Leni facing Hitler's goons, with nothing to defend her save her golden hair and blue eyes—perfect Aryan features—made his stomach clench. "If Mother lost us both, she'd never recover. She needs you, Leni."_

 _Her jaw set: the stubborn expression Hans had come to dread. "She'd have Papa to comfort her; you'd have no one. I won't abandon you."_

 _Hans opened his mouth to argue, but stopped at the sight of the tears in her eyes; Leni ran to him, pressing her face against his shoulder. Stroking her hair, Hans waited until she straightened, wiping her eyes with a sniffle. Reaching into his pocket for the handkerchief Mother insisted he carry, Hans handed it to her; Leni scrubbed her wet cheeks as though they were the cause of all her woes._

" _You can't go." She whispered, eyes luminous and pleading. "You're all I have left."_

 _Hans ruffled her hair. "Don't worry, little sister; I'm not going anywhere."_

 _The lie stung, but her smile was worth it._

He awoke gasping for breath, body coated in a sheen of sweat. Already, the dream was fading, though a few remnants lingered: a crackling fire, someone crying...Hans closed his eyes, trying to recapture the images that had so powerfully affected him, but with each passing second he was more awake; soon they'd slipped away completely. He felt an aching sense of loss, though he couldn't recall the reason for that, either.

Sitting up, he padded to the window, peering out the porthole into the midst of a roiling storm. No wonder the others had let him be; little could be done in such weather. Even a werewolf would struggle to conduct a conversation over the shrieking winds and crashing waves.

Someone pounded on the door, forcing him to reevaluate this assessment. "You awake, Captain?" Without waiting for a response, Schrodinger let himself in.

 _I see his disregard for common courtesy remains strong as ever; I never could understand what the Major saw in the boy._ Hans gave Schrodinger his best disapproving stare, but the boy didn't seem to notice.

"Herr Doktor has called another meeting; it seems the enchantress has returned." Schrodinger smirked, taking in Hans' disheveled appearance for the first time. "What were you doing in here, anyway? Looks like things got a little…rough."

 _What exactly is he implying?_ At Hans' scowl, the boy shrugged, skipping out the door like the child he appeared to be. "Ah, well; I'll get it out of you eventually, Captain. Last one there is a Jew!"

Hans felt a twinge of guilt at the expression, though he didn't know why.

Heinkel was in a foul mood. Not only had it taken the better part of an hour to free Seras from the witch's trap—to the tune of much swearing and several explosions—but the mission had been an utter failure. True, they'd confronted the culprit—only for her to make fools of them both before escaping. And now that the witch knew they were on to her, she would doubtless be more circumspect in committing her bloody deeds…

And since she hadn't succeeded in harvesting Heinkel's blood, more murders were imminent. Sir Integra would be furious—though no reproach from her could ever compare to the remorse that gnawed at Heinkel's heart. At least she'd recovered her guns; and Seras' glamour had finally worn off, meaning Heinkel no longer looked like a whore plying her trade. Of course, this also meant her ruined features were visible once again, but she preferred not to dwell on that.

Something nudged her hand; and Heinkel nearly blew it to pieces before recognizing her new pet. She'd taken the witch's cat with them, deciding it would be cruel to abandon the animal to suffer further at its owner's hands. Besides, it _was_ kind of cute—not that she'd ever admit this aloud.

"We're in deep shit." She told it, then immediately felt foolish.

The animal purred in response; Heinkel scratched it behind the ears and its purr grew louder. Despite her best efforts, her lips curved in a slight smile.

"That sums it up nicely."

This time, Heinkel was able to disguise her flinch at Seras' sudden appearance. "What did...Sir Integra say?"

Seras' eyes were knowing, as though she understood how Heinkel dreaded the disapproval of her superiors—even those she hated. Was the vampire inside her head? She thought of Alucard's ability, the way the count forced others to do his bidding with a mere look, and repressed a shudder.

 _Sir Integra is a tosser_. Heinkel thought as loud as she could, but Seras' expression didn't change. Either she was a really good actress, or the draculina didn't possess the same gift as her sire.

"She isn't pleased, of course, but she prepared for this. We're already moving on to the second phase of her plan." There was a hint of pride in the vampire's voice at her master's cunning.

Seras bent to pet the cat, which eyed her for a moment before rolling over to present her with its belly. Heinkel felt a surge of jealousy; even her own pet liked that damn vampire better! All Seras had to do was bat her blue eyes and the whole world came running.

"Which is?" Heinkel realized she was speaking through gritted teeth and forced her jaw to relax.

 _Don't be such a child._ She scolded herself. _You have more important things to worry about than an animal's affections._ Nevertheless, it still rankled.

"Dorian will take the recruits to search the witch's lair for clues." Seras replied, nobly ignoring Heinkel's snort. "Sir Integra wants _us_ to rest, gather our strength."

It was clear this instruction was intended mainly for Heinkel's benefit; while Seras didn't have so much as a hair out of place, Heinkel's robes were torn, her face streaked with sweat, and her hair mussed. Several bruises already purpled her body. With a reluctant nod, she smothered a yawn. Ordinarily, Heinkel would be offended at the implication of weakness, but she _was_ exhausted; witch-hunting was harder than it looked.

 _Besides, I could use a hot shower._

Scooping up the cat, she struggled to her feet, limbs suddenly leaden.

Seras smirked. "I never took you for an animal lover."

Heinkel glared blearily at her partner. "Shut up."

But they both knew her heart wasn't in it; it was impossible to be angry with the cat purring loud enough to rattle her bones. Oh, how she'd missed Greta, longed for a companion she could trust completely, who would love her, no matter what. As though sensing the sudden swell of emotion, the animal purred even louder, and Heinkel decided she had earned the name.

 _Greta it is, then._ The thought warmed her despite the chill that pervaded Hellsing's halls.

"Good night!" Seras called after them. "Or is it good morning?"

Once in her room—when had she come to think of it as hers?—Heinkel deposited Greta gently on the rug; with an offended meow, the cat leapt onto the bed and settled there, tail twitching. Deciding it wasn't worth the effort of removing her, Heinkel sank onto her mattress as the sky lightened.

By the time Greta curled up on her chest, she was already asleep.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

 _There will come a day, when all the lies will collapse under their own weight, and truth will again triumph._ —Joseph Goebbels

Despite the hours of training they'd endured, the new recruits had yet to master the art of stealth; Heinkel could hear the clamor of voices from several halls away, and a headache had begun to form by the time they rounded the corner. At the sight of her, several newbies halted, staring as though she were a wild animal poised to attack at any moment—though Dorian didn't spare her so much as a glance.

For once, Heinkel was grateful for the old man's aversion to her; at least Dorian's disgust had nothing to do with her features and everything to do with her faith. Being ostracized because of her religion didn't bother her—at this point, it was almost routine—but Heinkel had never imagined that being feared would hurt so much.

 _They think me a monster, but I'm not; I'm human, just like them._ The thought should have been reassuring, but it did little to ease the hollowness in her chest.

"Hello!" A familiar voice chirped; and Heinkel felt her spirits lift slightly.

She told herself it was only because it would be easier to get answers from Seras than Dorian, but the truth was, Heinkel was glad to see her partner. Seras may have been a blathering dimwit, but her company was far preferable to being alone.

 _At least_ she _isn't scared of me._ Though perhaps it would have been easier if she was…

At the draculina's sudden appearance, one of the recruits—the blonde who'd given Seras a hard time during the first training session (and every session thereafter)—shrieked, clutching at the arm of a fellow newcomer, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair.

 _What is_ she _wailing about? If we didn't need soldiers so badly, I'd finish her myself._

Seras' face flushed—how did vampires blush, anyway? —and she took a step back, flashing a quick smile (sans fangs) to show she meant no harm. The recruits eyed her warily, clustering together like a flock of sheep—though Seras was no wolf; with her doe eyes and eagerness to please, she reminded Heinkel of an overgrown puppy.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you."

The blonde bristled, edging closer to her fellow recruits even as she glared at Seras. "You should be."

Although she was relieved not to be the only one the newbies found intimidating—not that she cared what these idiots thought, of course—Heinkel found herself irritated by the girl's insolence. True, Seras had an annoying habit of materializing without warning, but at least _she_ had the sense not to go around squawking at every little thing. Besides, that was no reason for Barbie, who couldn't even hold a gun properly, to speak to her partner that way: as though Seras were nothing. As though she were a monster.

 _Since when do_ you _care about the bloodsucker's feelings; she's the enemy, remember?_ Yumie's voice whispered, but Heinkel ignored it, glaring at Barbie until the twit looked away. Much better.

Dorian, who hadn't so much as raised an eyebrow at the sight of a vampire appearing in front of him, smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from his jacket before answering. "Good evening, Miss Victoria."

The old man's eyes met Heinkel's; she gave him her best glare, daring him to say something, but he returned his attention to Seras. "Sir Integra has instructed me to deliver your briefing in a more…private location."

If Seras was annoyed, she hid it well. "Of course." Turning to the recruits, she added, "If you don't mind…"

Heinkel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _She'll never get rid of them_ that _way._

"Like we're going to listen to _you_." Barbie huffed, lip curling as though she'd just smelled something foul. "I don't know about anyone else, but _I'm_ not taking orders from a filthy vampire."

Every fiber of Heinkel's being longed to throttle the uppity bitch; her body tensed, readying itself to wrap her hands around the girl's throat, but Dorian spoke before she could strike, dulling her bloodlust.

"Vampire or not, she is your superior, Miss Carrington. You willheed her instructions, or your time with us will be brief." Though he spoke softly, the steel in his voice was evident; Heinkel decided she hated him a little less (though not enough to make a difference).

For a long moment, Carrington's mouth opened and closed soundlessly— _like a fish_ , Heinkel thought—then she stomped away without another word.

After a pause, the other recruits followed, save the older man Carrington had grabbed, who extended a hand to Seras. "I must apologize for not introducing myself earlier; Oliver Carrington at your service, ma'am. Please excuse my niece's rudeness. I'd say she's not always so unpleasant, but…"

With a smile that was only slightly forced, Seras shook his hand. "Don't worry about me, Mr. Carrington. I assure you, I'm used to people fearing me."

"Please, call me Oliver. And you are too kind, my dear; Margaret's behavior was inexcusable. I assure you, I'll have a long talk with her." Glancing at his watch, he added, "Well, I'm off to dinner. Until tomorrow, then." With a bow in the women's direction and a nod to Dorian, Oliver made his way to the mess hall.

They stood in silence for a moment—Heinkel watching Seras, wondering how she could stand to be _so damn cheerful_ when other people treated her like a monster, Dorian watching both women with a carefully blank expression—until a floorboard creaked under Heinkel's weight, shattering the quiet; her headache returned in full force.

The door to Sir Integra's office opened before Dorian could knock—not that Heinkel would have waited; they didn't have time to waste on formalities. Hellsing's leader was in rare form tonight: in an impeccably tailored suit, her glasses gleaming, a cigar clenched between her teeth. The room was full of the sickly scent of tobacco; Heinkel stifled a sneeze.

Integra began to pace, smoke trailing behind her as she did so. Glancing at the floor, Heinkel noted that the carpet in front of her desk was worn from countless hours thus spent. "Dorian, report."

Obviously relishing the attention, the butler cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, the witch's lair was largely destroyed—here he darted an accusing glance at Heinkel—but a few items remained intact: potions, spell books, things of that sort."

"And?" Heinkel prompted, unable to stand the suspense. After all, the old man wouldn't be so smug if he'd returned empty handed.

With a flourish, the old man produced a tattered scrap of cloth from his coat pocket, his gaze unreadable. "One of the recruits found this in the rubble."

 _That's all?_

Given Dorian's demeanor, Heinkel had expected something a bit more impressive than a nasty old rag. Had he raided the witch's closet? The thought of Dorian wearing a frumpy dress almost made her laugh, but a sharp look from Sir Integra was enough to contain her hilarity.

However, rather than laughing in Dorian's face (as Heinkel had hoped), Sir Integra examined the cloth closely, eyes widening as she studied it. "It can't be."

"What is it?" Seras stiffened, instinctively scanning the room for threats.

Integra slowly shook her head, as though denying the reality of the object she held in her hand. "This belonged to the Major." Handing it to Seras, she wiped her hands on her suit as though the mere act of touching the cloth had contaminated them.

Heinkel peered over Seras' shoulder, stomach clenching as she recognized the remains of the white jacket the Nazi leader had worn. But what was the witch doing with a dead _man's_ clothing? All her victims had been female; and besides, the Major had died at Sir Integra's hand. Perhaps it belonged to another man with appalling fashion sense—but how many people wore a jacket with a swastika on the lapel?

"You don't think…" Seras looked like she might be ill; her normally chalky skin had turned a sickly shade of green.

Heinkel's head pounded harder, her temples throbbing to the rhythm of her heart.

Sir Integra exhaled, smoke wreathing her head and obscuring her features. "I'm afraid I do. Millennium is attempting to raise its leader from the dead."

"What?" Distantly, Heinkel realized she was shouting, but she couldn't stop herself. The thought of Millennium's mad leader returning from the grave, clawing his way out of Hell, both terrified and infuriated her. "But that's impossible!"

"Hardly." Dorian replied, his features somber. "Practitioners of the dark arts willing to make certain…sacrifices have experienced great success with necromancy."

"But how do you…know all that…from a jacket?"

For once, the old man didn't scoff at her ignorance. "Such spells require one of the deceased's most treasured possessions; and these markings on the collar are meant to summon the owner's spirit from beyond."

"You spoke of sacrifices." Heinkel bit out, stomach churning with a toxic combination of rage and revulsion. "The killings…those girls…they were part of the spell, weren't they?"

"I'm afraid so."

Heinkel had experienced bloodlust before, of course, but never like this. She wouldn't snuff out the witch's life with a well-placed bullet; rather, she would obliterate it with her bare hands, watch the light fade from the murderess' eyes as she begged for mercy.

As for the monsters who had commissioned this grisly task, they would experience agony like they'd never known: until they begged for death, until the pain obliterated their madness and bloodlust. The murdered girls may be gone, but they would not be forgotten; through Heinkel, they—along with Yumie, Andersen, Maxwell, the thousands slaughtered during the Third Blitz—would have their revenge. She would not fail them again.

And if this travesty came to pass, if the Major was resurrected, like a twisted version of the God he defied, Heinkel would make him long for Hell; for even the fires of the inferno could not compare to the torment Millennium's leader would suffer at her hands.

Part of her protested at such thoughts, cringed away from hatred so similar to the enmity the Major embraced, but she dismissed these qualms. After all, compassion and mercy would only lead to weakness and ultimately, defeat—and victory was all that mattered now.

 _The righteous will rejoice when he sees the vengeance; He will wash his feet in the blood of the wicked…_


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

 _Think of the press as a great keyboard on which the government can play.—_ Joseph Goebbels

On screen, a fresh-faced news anchor adjusted her pantsuit before flashing a toothy smile at the audience; behind her, a digital sun hovered in the center of a flawless sky.

"Good morning, London, and welcome to Molly Magee's morning forecast!" Her syrupy sweet tone made Heinkel wince; even Seras wasn't so saccharine. "As you can see, it's a beautiful day—not a cloud in the sky. Perfect weather for an outing."

 _Has she set foot outside her studio recently? Because I don't think Londoners—the ones still alive, anyway—are in the mood for a picnic._

There was a short pause as a camera man whispered in the anchor's ear before she added hastily, "Not to worry; I have it on good authority that the streets are perfectly safe. You can enjoy this lovely day without fear!" Molly beamed at the camera, her misstep already forgotten. "In other news, the queen will be addressing the nation at seven o'clock this evening…"

Heinkel's fists clenched at the girl's cheerful tone; Magee spoke lightly, almost carelessly, as if the Third Blitz had been a minor annoyance, instead of a catastrophe that would cripple the country for years to come. Even though she knew the girl was being fed lines, told what to say by authorities desperate to prevent panic, it galled Heinkel that the reporter could lie so effortlessly to her viewers. Besides, such deceit wasn't merely crass and thoughtless; it was downright dangerous.

After all, no place was ever safe from the enemies of God; yet England's arrogance, the people's stubborn refusal to accepts their own vulnerability, had left London unprotected and its population defenseless: an easy target indeed for the Major and his ilk.

But, if Millennium had not attacked the city, Heinkel knew others would have, eventually. Clinging to the illusion of invincibility, insulated from tragedy, the English had become weak, sheep waiting for slaughter; and it mattered not who the butchers were. England had paid dearly for her hubris—and likely would again.

Already, the city was recovering from the bloodshed that had devastated it only weeks before; already, the Blitz was becoming a distant memory few cared to dwell on. With the Thames sparkling in the sunlight and children romping in the streets, giddy to be playing truant on a school day, one could almost believe Millennium's attack had been nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

But, as the trio of photographs on Heinkel's dresser reminded her, the nightmare was all too real; and if she ignored it, turned her back on the truth, this tragedy would happen again. She would rather die than witness such devastation a second time; sometimes, she wished she _was_ dead. Why couldn't Yumie have lived instead of her? _She_ , a true warrior of God,would have known what to do. Heinkel was just a frightened little girl, scrambling to make sense of an incomprehensible evil.

Silencing the television, she turned her back on the reporter's false smiles and soothing words. This wasn't news, only lies meant to soothe the frightened populace; and though they appeared to be working, this did nothing to diminish Heinkel's disgust, the incredulity that anyone could recite such blatant falsehoods in the face of such tragedy.

Strange; deception—at least when perpetrated by infidels—had never bothered her before; after all, it was to be expected. But now, the wrongness of it overwhelmed her; and she wanted nothing more to shake Molly Magee until the twit's eyes rolled back in her head.

While she understood the reasoning behind the government's propaganda—a feeling of security would breed obedience and order—it would only beget further weakness: something the beleaguered city, and the nation, for that matter, could not afford.

Even if London believed itself stronger for what it had suffered, inoculated against tragedy, Heinkel knew differently. Millennium's attack had not fortified the capital; rather, it had exposed just how weak the city truly was. If—no, when—the Nazis launched a second assault, the carnage of the Third Blitz would pale in comparison to their next offensive.

On the surface, however, London was recovering. Under Dorian's tutelage, the new recruits had eradicated the last of the ghouls (with only a handful of near-casualties); with the "rotters" gone, reconstruction was soon underway. Big Ben, damaged by Nazi bombs, was one of the first things to be repaired; its chimes rang out across the city, a comforting counterpoint to those battle remnants that remained.

Emergency shelters emptied as people finally gathered the courage to return home, where they cleared away the detritus littering the streets and scrubbed the blood of friends and neighbors from their doorsteps. Shops opened their doors for the first time since That Night, their cracked windows and singed facades the sole reminder of the Nazis' frenzied looting.

Reassured by the soldiers stationed on every street corner, some dared to venture outdoors for longer than a moment or two, though most traveled in groups; clutching a motley assortment of weapons, they grimly scanned the streets for trouble. And their clothing was eclectic, to say the least: people wore everything from nightgowns to ball dresses, as most of their possessions had been destroyed in the inferno ignited by the Nazis.

With a meow, Greta padded into the room, tail in the air; Heinkel bent down to pet her, her body relaxing despite itself as the animal purred with pleasure. At least one Londoner was untouched by the recent tragedy, even if she _was_ a cat; and she intended to ensure it stayed that way. Perhaps it was foolish, but Heinkel wasn't comfortable letting her pet venture outdoors just yet. Best to wait another week, just in case. The city might seem peaceful, but tension simmered beneath the surface.

In the chaos following the Blitz, street gangs had rushed to fill the void: mugging unsuspecting passerby, looting the few businesses that had escaped the Nazis' wrath, and attacking any soldier who dared venture beyond earshot of his compatriots. The army was doing its best to restore order, of course, but its ranks had been severely depleted; it would be months, even years, before it was as powerful as it had once been.

And although various humanitarian organizations had attempted to aid the city, their efforts were uncoordinated, their resources stretched to the limit. People were starving—and as their desperation grew, so did the violence. If the authorities didn't find a solution, and fast, Millennium would be the least of their problems.

Yesterday, Heinkel had witnessed a fight erupt over a single dented can; the victor had clubbed her opponent in the head with her cane before hobbling away as fast as she could, cackling loudly—though she didn't make it more than a few yards before someone else shoved her to the ground, snatching it from her grasp. Heinkel hadn't seen anyone eating their pets yet, but she had no intention of allowing Greta to become a meal.

For her part, Greta didn't seem to miss the outdoors. After claiming Heinkel's room as her own, she'd quickly explored the rest of the mansion—much to Dorian's annoyance. The dislike appeared to be mutual; Greta hissed and retreated under Heinkel's bed at the mere sound of his voice: another reason to keep her, in Heinkel's opinion.

"Remarkable, isn't it?"

Heinkel flinched, stifling an oath. Despite her annoyance at being startled, she was secretly impressed; since she hadn't heard Oliver approach; he must have been practicing her stealth techniques. At least _someone_ took his training seriously.

"What is?" Molly Magee wasn't _that_ attractive.

And how did the man always manage to look so immaculate? Heinkel's robes were rumpled, her hair mussed; it was a struggle just to keep her eyes open. But Oliver, though he'd had only a few hours of sleep himself, was polished as ever. She thought idly that he would make a far better butler than Dorian; it would be a shame if this man were to die on the battlefield.

 _Get ahold of yourself._ Yumie's voice hissed. _He's just a Protestant. Why should you care if he dies?_

Oliver nodded toward the street below, where small groups of people talked and laughed, only their tense posture and roving gazes betraying their unease.

"I was speaking of the human ability to recover from tragedy, to begin rebuilding our lives, even amidst the most horrific circumstances." His gaze flickered to what remained of her face. "I suspect you know all about that."

Heinkel turned her back on the window and the people enjoying the gorgeous day Molly Magee had promised, ignoring the sudden tightness in her throat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Greta meowed, easing the tension, then pressed against Heinkel's leg until her owner relented, scooping her up; the cat's purr rattled her bones. With anyone else (apart from Seras), she wouldn't have done it—Heinkel had learned long ago to guard her heart from others—but she was so tired of pretending.

"Why do you say that?"

There was no accusation in Oliver's voice, only curiosity; she thought of Andersen and felt a stab of longing for her old friend. Something about Oliver reminded Heinkel of her mentor's gentler side; when he wasn't spouting scripture and sparring with Alucard, Andersen had been kind, compassionate: the father she'd never had.

"Fools. Look at them." Heinkel tried to gesture at the people milling in the streets, but since her arms were full of cat, she settled for jerking her chin instead. "They think they're safe now that the battle's over, that everything will return to normal, just like that. But they're wrong; evil never rests. Millennium will come for them again, and they will die, again. They will _never_ be safe."

She didn't realize how tightly she was holding Greta until the cat squirmed in her arms; when Heinkel loosened her grip, the animal gave her a reproachful look and climbed onto her shoulder, draping herself around Heinkel's neck like a furry scarf.

Oliver was silent for a long moment before he replied, eyes fixed on the city below. Heinkel wondered for the first time if he'd lost anyone in the Blitz; perhaps his insufferable niece was the only family he had left (a terrifying thought indeed).

"Perhaps you are right; perhaps it is foolish to start anew, when there is no guarantee everything we've built won't come crashing down again. But, as my mother often reminded me, true courage isn't about ignoring your fears; rather, it is acknowledging them—and choosing to fight on, regardless."

He met her eyes, his own glowing with a fervor she hadn't expected in one so mild-mannered. "You see, Miss Wolfe, we must never concede the battle, not even in our hearts—especially not there."

One of Andersen's favorite passages came to mind then; and Heinkel was ashamed to realize she'd been entrapped by the very snare Saint Matthew warned against. _Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul._ Even if Millennium were to spill her blood, they could never destroy her place in heaven.

Oliver was right; there was no time for uncertainty, only action. Heinkel had hesitated to fulfill her divine purpose, but no longer. She would find Millennium, hunt down the Nazi bastards and make them suffer until they begged for mercy. And she would begin immediately, for very minute she lingered was another minute these madmen escaped justice, staining the world with their sin in direct opposition to divine law.

"A wise woman indeed, your mother."

With that, she exited the room, leaving Oliver wondering if he'd said too much—but it was just the opposite. Heretic though he was, Heinkel owed him a great debt for reminding her of her true purpose. If she survived the next few days, she might even thank him for it.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

 _It is always more difficult to fight against faith than against knowledge_.—Adolph Hitler

Heinkel crept down the corridor, doing her best to ignore thoughts of Greta scratching at her bedroom door, meowing plaintively—Heinkel had only managed to escape her pet's watchful gaze with the help of some catnip—when a voice shattered the silence.

"Where are you going?"

 _Not_ again _. I must be getting soft._

Heinkel spun around, and, in one smooth motion, aimed the barrel of her gun between Seras Victoria's eyes; the vampire froze, palms extended in supplication. A distant corner of Heinkel's mind noted that, although Seras was a poor excuse for a vampire, threatening her remained risky; after all, the draculina could disarm her before she'd even fired. Luckily, Seras hadn't realized that.

And in the unlikely event she managed to shoot Seras…well, her bullets might be blessed, but Heinkel doubted they'd have much effect on a vampire sired by Alucard himself. Not to mention that Integra's guards were bound to come running at the sound of a struggle; everyone was on high alert after Millennium's latest assault on the mansion.

Heinkel had no desire to start a fight she would surely lose—she wasn't in the mood to get her ass kicked—but neither could she allow Seras to inform Sir Integra of her departure; if that happened, Heinkel would be a dead woman walking—if she even made it out of the building.

What to do? Normally, she had no problem making decisions, but now Heinkel froze, paralyzed by indecision. No matter what choice she made—fight or flight—she was screwed.

Now Heinkel regretted her earlier impatience. If only she'd waited until dawn stained the sky and Seras retreated to her coffin...but even now, her body recoiled at the thought, humming with a restless energy that longed to do something, anything at all. After all, any action, no matter how small, would be a step towards finding Yumie's killers.

Besides, the few hours' wait she'd already endured had been torturous. Sleep was impossible; no sooner had Heinkel shut her eyes then a creaking floorboard or rattling windowpane sent them flying open, heart pounding, body flooded with adrenaline as she wondered if her world had finally come crashing down: if Hellsing had discovered her, the traitor in their midst, at last. A small, shameful part of her wished they would…

When she had finally accepted that sleep was impossible, Heinkel knelt on the worn floorboards of her bedroom, begging God to reveal His will, to guide her, a lowly sinner, onto the path of redemption, but He had remained silent; and now, she was left to muddle through on her own: a situation both unfamiliar and disconcerting.

 _Lord, why did You take Bishop Maxwell, Father Andersen, and Yumiko from me? Without their guidance, I cannot hope to complete Your sacred mission. How can I possibly fulfill my divine purpose with only my conscience to advise me?_

Now Heinkel understood how conflicted Judas had felt, torn between loyalty and betrayal—but any similarities between the two were purely superficial; after all, Heinkel had nothing in common with that vile traitor. _She_ was the Lord's champion, her motives pure as new fallen snow. In His righteous anger, God demanded that the Nazi vermin be punished with the full force of His divine wrath…and Heinkel was His chosen vessel.

Her doubts vanishing as quickly as they had arisen, Heinkel turned her back on Seras, sheathing her gun. Let the vampire try to stop her; another moment's delay, and she would jump out of her skin. Besides, though Heinkel would never admit it, in her heart she knew Seras wouldn't hurt her. The draculina may not have been human in the strict sense of the word, but she had yet to lose her humanity.

Somewhere, a clock began to toll, a dolorous sound that made Heinkel's heartbeat quicken. _4 o'clock already?_ Sir Integra would be awake soon; if she wanted to make a clean getaway, Heinkel couldn't afford to dawdle any longer. But Seras materialized in front of her, blocking her path.

"You haven't answered my question."

Heinkel's eyes narrowed. _Guess I'll have to do this the hard way._

Summoning her best scowl, she snapped, "None of your business. Now get out of my way…bloodsucker."

Integra had informed her that Seras drank only from blood bags provided by a nearby hospital—she refused to feed from a living host, with the exception of Captain Bernadotte—but hurting the draculina's feelings was the fastest, and most painless, way to get rid of her.

That didn't mean Heinkel was happy about it—seeing Seras flinch at her words made her feel small and ashamed—but she had no choice; after all, diplomacy would have little effect on her new partner, given Seras' unfortunate habit of tagging along whether she was wanted or not. Besides, Seras would thank her later. She probably thought Heinkel was leaving for an exciting—and Integra-approved mission; one whiff of treason, and the vampire, loyal soldier that she was, would be the one fleeing.

Seras bit her lip at the venom in Heinkel's voice but, to her credit, she refused to step aside. Eyes narrowed, Heinkel struggled to stifle her rising frustration. Why didn't the vampire give up already, and leave her alone? Had Integra ordered her to keep an eye on Hellsing's most unreliable recruit…or could it be that Seras actually _cared_ about her?

 _Yeah, right._

Seras' good nature aside, the latter option was as likely as Integra converting to Catholicism; the draculina would certainly be relieved to be rid of her prickly partner. After all, with Heinkel gone, Seras would no longer be burdened with a bad-tempered human; instead, she would work alone, accountable to no one save Sir Integra.

 _So why is she trying to stop me? Is she really that afraid of Integra?_

Shaking her head to rid her mind of these idiotic thoughts, Heinkel decided to analyze the vampire's actions later—or, even better, forget the entire encounter. After all, she had a lot of ground to cover before dawn.

Still, a nagging worry remained: once Integra realized Heinkel had escaped, she would undoubtedly blame Seras; and though no punishment inflicted by humans would seriously wound the draculina, Heinkel didn't wish to hurt Seras any more than she already had.

 _How strange._

She'd never felt this way before about anyone, not even Yumie. Perhaps it was because Yumiko had been so strong-willed, even to the point of death; nothing could distract her from her divine purpose. Seras, by contrast, was rendered vulnerable by her emotions. Once Heinkel had despised her for it, but now she found herself envying the girl for her resiliency, her willingness to keep trying, even when all seemed lost.

 _Too many revelations in one night,_ Yumie whispered.

Heinkel sighed, suddenly filled with a weariness that reached her very bones. She blinked furiously, willing herself to stay alert. "I'm leaving, obviously. If you want to avoid one of Integra's temper tantrums, just tell her you were asleep when I left. After all, I won't be here to contradict you."

 _Why am I even bothering?_

After all, it was pointless to provide Seras with an alibi—the girl might be virtually indestructible, but she was a terrible liar. Oh, well. Integra wouldn't dispose of her most valuable soldier over such a minor incident.

Brushing past the vampire, Heinkel began to make her way down the hallway once more, though more quickly this time. The standoff couldn't have lasted longer than a minute or two, but it felt as though a year had passed. And meanwhile, Millennium was still out there, plotting its next move.

"Very well, then." To Heinkel's astonishment, Seras fell into step beside her, as casually as though they were old friends. "If you're going, then I'm coming with you." While her tone was casual, the girl's expression was steely; it was clear that she was set on making a nuisance of herself.

Forcing herself to exhale, Heinkel resisted the urge to scream; a muffled groan emerged instead. Oh, why must she be saddled with this pest? Maybe this was God's way of punishing her.

 _I humbly beg Your forgiveness, Lord. And I could really use Your help right now…_ She waited, but no angel appeared to smite Seras from the face of the earth. _Well, it was worth a try._

"What about Integra?" Though Hellsing's leader would undoubtedly be angered by Heinkel's disappearance, that would be nothing compared to her fury upon finding that her most stalwart soldier had also vanished.

Momentarily, unease flickered in her partner's eyes; Seras raised her chin, crossing her arms as though to shield herself from the thought of her master's ire. "You're my partner; I'd be neglecting my duties if I let you go into battle alone. Sir Integra will understand…I hope." The last part was spoken so softly that Heinkel hardly heard it.

She opened her mouth to retort when a nearby floorboard creaked; both froze until Seras shook her head, her supernatural hearing confirming they were alone. _What a nuisance; she's already slowing me down._ So why did Heinkel feel almost…relieved to have her along?

To disguise her emotions, she smirked. "It's your funeral."

It wasn't until they were outside—sneaking past the guards had been pathetically easy, even if they _were_ half-trained—that Heinkel realized she'd overlooked an important detail of her escape: securing a mode of transport. In the past, it would have been simple to commandeer one of the Vatican's many vehicles, since the agents of Section XIII were denied nothing; even those ignorant of their sacred mission had been instructed to defer to them.

Now, however, Heinkel had no authority save what Integra chose to grant her—and she couldn't exactly ask her new superior to lend them a getaway car. Besides, knowing Integra, any vehicle owned by Hellsing would be outfitted with a state of the art tracking device.

 _I suppose we'll have to steal one._ Heinkel had never stolen anything larger than a comic book that Frau Lena, the headmistress of the orphanage, had immediately forced her to return, but how hard could it be? With Seras' hypnotic abilities, they'd have no problem convincing a motorist to give them his keys—if anyone was about at this hour, that is.

She scanned the quiet street before them; all was dark, save for the occasional street lamp, and motionless, except for the odd beer can or fast food wrapper carried by the wind. There were no cars in sight; they'd likely have to wait until morning to commandeer one, even though this would be much riskier in broad daylight.

Though Heinkel hated the idea of acting like a common thief, she had no choice; public transportation was simply too risky. Not to mention that she couldn't afford the fare for two…

"What are you looking for?" Seras interjected, making her jump.

"We need a ride. I don't have a car, so we'll have to steal one."

Seras laughed, "No need for that. My old apartment is only a few blocks away; and my car should still be in the parking lot. My landlord won't notice my absent for another few months at least."

This time, Heinkel was unable to disguise her relief. Vanquishing monsters and infidels was one thing, but dealing with civilians was another matter entirely. Ignoring Seras' knowing smile, she ordered, "Lead the way."


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

 _"What we must fight for is to safeguard the existence and reproduction of our race and our people, the sustenance of our children and the purity of our blood, the freedom and independence of the fatherland, so that our people may mature for the fulfillment of the mission allotted it by the creator of the universe."_ —Adolf Hitler

Seras' Victoria's former home was not what Heinkel had expected.

For the past several hours, she'd alternated between dozing on the battered futon in the flat's tiny kitchen/living area and staring at the ceiling, ears straining to catch some sound—shouting, maybe, or weapons being loaded—believing every moment that Integra had finally found them. If only she'd hurry up, and end this torture…

But the world outside was silent, save for the occasional passing car; the apartment itself was still, except for the dripping of the bathroom faucet. Even Seras, so noisy when awake, didn't make so much as a peep; the draculina, who had barricaded herself in her bedroom, didn't seem to regret the loss of her coffin.

It had been foolish to come here—undoubtedly one of the first places Integra would search—but Heinkel had been exhausted at the time, her head so foggy that she hardly remembered the conversation.

Anyway, it seemed luck was with them since, for some inexplicable reason, Hellsing agents had yet to storm the place. Maybe Seras had used her powers to keep them away. Only a few days ago, Heinkel would have laughed at the idea, but after what she'd seen in the witch's lair, she no longer doubted her partner's abilities. Still, sunset couldn't come soon enough; once darkness fell, they could finally leave this place. Glancing at the light slanting through the room's tiny window, she stifled a groan.

 _Another hour at least…_

When Heinkel's stomach growled—she hadn't eaten since the night before—she finally abandoned the idea of sleep and, rising to her feet, observed her surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. While she'd expected the place to be small, she hadn't realized it would be quite so tiny. How could anyone live in such a cramped space?

And even the orphanage in which she'd been raised had been more hospitable than _this_ place; the room she'd shared with several other girls, while narrow, had been clean and well-lit, with a pot of violets gracing the windowsill.

Here, everything was dark, dingy, and devoid of color; in Heinkel's opinion, it bore more resemblance to a prison cell than a living area. Except for the meager furnishings the landlord had provided, there was nothing to indicate the place was inhabited, save for the avalanche of mail piled in front of the door: a mountain of unpaid bills, with a handful of packages and the occasional postcard for variety. Who were the parcels from? Had they been sent by a relative or friend, someone who lay awake at night, wondering what had happened to the police girl?

Some emotion overwhelmed Heinkel then: a cloying, uncomfortable sensation she scarcely recognized. She, Heinkel Wolfe, devotee of the one true Church, warrior of God who had dedicated her life to eradicating creatures of the night, pitied Seras Victoria, was sorrowed by the thought of the other woman returning to this cheerless place after a long day's work.

 _And now that Seras is dead, she's lost even this meager existence; as a vampire, she'll spend the rest of her days hiding from a world that refuses to believe in her, watching as her friends grow old and die—always an outsider looking in._

Giving her head a sharp shake to clear it of these melancholy thoughts, Heinkel rifled through the pantry in search of something edible; she'd never cared much for British cuisine.

As for her sympathy for the bloodsucker—an unexpected development, not to mention unsettling—no emotion, no matter how powerful, could prevent Heinkel from completing her divine mission. One day, she would face Seras in combat, fighting on until one of them was dead; for no monster, no matter how humanoid, could be allowed to walk the earth unchallenged by the servants of God. Nearby, a door slammed; and Heinkel flinched, telling herself it was only the sound that had unsettled her, and not the idea of fighting the draculina.

"Go on, now!" A voice cried; curious, Heinkel peeked out the window in time to see an elderly woman shaking a wrinkled fist at a group of ragged children who scattered in all directions, their laughter lingering even as they vanished from view. "Next time, I'll call the police; see if I don't!"

With a sigh, and a muttered "kids these days", the woman limped back to her apartment; in her haste, she'd left the door ajar, and a tabby cat peered curiously through the gap, though it retreated at the sight of its owner.

The old lady had nearly reached the threshold when she halted, staring at Seras' window as though feeling Heinkel's eyes on her; jerking her hand away like she'd been burned, Heinkel let the curtain twitch into place, heart pounding at her narrow escape. Only her quick reflexes, honed by years of training, had saved her from being spotted. The last thing they needed was some nosy neighbor interfering.

Scolding herself for being so careless, Heinkel peeked through the tiny slit between curtain and window; the woman was still watching, but after a moment, she turned away, shutting the door behind her with a decisive thud.

Feeling as though she'd just run a marathon, Heinkel leaned against the wall, her pulse racing and body damp with sweat. Even though the woman hadn't spotted her, something about her had unnerved Heinkel—what, she couldn't say, but the feeling of wrongness persisted, making her skin prickle and the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

After unearthing a tin of biscuits—slightly stale, but far more palatable than barley water or marmite—Heinkel heated a battered tea kettle on the ancient stove. Now that her hunger was had been appeased, her mood had also improved.

Yes, Seras' apartment was pitiful, and the surrounding neighborhood wasn't much better, but perhaps it was fortunate that she'd resided in such a place; people here were doubtless accustomed to asking few questions and receiving even fewer answers. Had they noticed their neighbor's absence, they'd kept it to themselves.

Still, it was fortunate that the old woman hadn't seen Heinkel, as this could have tempted her to mention the unfamiliar face next door, blowing any cover they'd created; such gossip, while normally harmless, could be deadly. After all, people too nosy for their own good had derailed more than one Vatican mission.

Since the apartment hardly had the basic necessities, much less a television—not that Heinkel cared much for cinema, as she had enough to worry about in real life—and she didn't dare venture outdoors, she resigned herself to mulling over the shadowy details of her plan, a lukewarm mug of tea in one hand and a biscuit in the other.

The previous night, Heinkel hadn't thought far beyond her escape from the Hellsing mansion—she hadn't counted on Seras' help, nor had she expected it would be so simple to sneak past the new recruits. To be honest, she'd envisioned herself racing through the halls like a character in a low-budget action film, dodging bullets and booby traps left and right.

Although, had that been the case, she might never have made it this far; Heinkel's combat skills, while formidable, had their limitations. Once again, she wondered why Integra had yet to discover them; no doubt Hellsing's leader had been furious to find her pet vampire gone, along with the papist she'd never trusted. To her surprise, she felt a twinge of guilt at the thought, though she quickly quashed it.

After all, Integra had no one to blame but herself for Heinkel's escape; it was the result of her own foolishness: the same reckless disregard that had led her to embrace the Angel of Death, to bring one of Millennium's agents into her home, where he poured her tea and plotted her demise. Heinkel, at least, had never pretended to be anything other than what she was: a woman who served Hellsing out of necessity, not faith or loyalty.

 _Fools, all of them. My sole allegiance is to God._

Perhaps this forced reflection wasn't so bad after all; if nothing else, it gave Heinkel the opportunity to consider her next move. Stealth and strategy had never appealed to her, but she recognized their value, especially in such a precarious situation. With such inferior numbers, she had no choice but to proceed with the utmost caution; the evildoers could not be allowed to escape again.

The thought sobered her. _No matter how careful I am, if I complete this mission, I_ will _die—but it's worth it, so long as I can send those monsters to hell._

While the warrior in her longed to return to Argentina, scour the country until she finally discovered Millennium's lair, this was foolish at best and suicidal at worst, even with Seras' help; after all, as Andersen always said, a wounded foe was the most dangerous. Better to gather her strength, for the battle _would_ come—and it would be a glorious one.

 _Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him: fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass._

Besides, she had far more questions than answers about her foes, and Heinkel had never been one to tolerate ignorance for long. To destroy Millennium, it was imperative that she learn more about it; luckily, she knew exactly where to go. A trip to the Vatican archives was in order.

Her decision made, Heinkel knelt right there in the kitchen; with her eyes closed and silence surrounding her, she could almost imagine herself back at the orphanage, pleading with the Lord to send her a home, a family who loved her. But He had seen fit to give her something much greater.

 _Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done…_


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

 _"Let them have a chance" was a typical attitude. Hitler took the chance and made the most of it."—_ George L. Mosse _, Nazi Culture: Intellectual, Cultural and Social Life in the Third Reich_

8 Hours Later

"...e benvenuto a Roma. Goditi la permanenza!"

Slowly, sounds filtered into Heinkel's conscious as though she were underwater; for a blissful moment, her mind was utterly blank, and it was a struggle not to succumb to the weariness that enveloped her. Luckily, her training took over; forcing herself to sit up, Heinkel rubbed her eyes and smoothed her rumpled robes, watching blearily as the other passengers chattered excitedly, gathering their belongings in preparation for the plane's descent.

As her head cleared, Heinkel's memory gradually returned: sneaking out of her room, Seras tagging along, the agonizing wait in the apartment, calling in a favor before boarding a plane to Rome. Though the flight had been brief and the other passengers rowdy, Heinkel had somehow managed to fall asleep; despite her disorientation (and the dried drool on her face) she was grateful for the rest. After all, a clear head would make her next task much easier…hopefully.

When the craft began to dive, Heinkel's stomach lurched; and she clenched her teeth against the bile rising in her throat. No matter how many flights she endured, her body would never accustom itself to being aloft when, by all rights, she should be safely on the ground. From her seat a few rows away, Seras gazed at the city below, eyes sparkling with excitement—but then, _she_ had no cause for concern.

Heinkel scowled. _Damn vampire._

Arranging the trip hadn't been easy; Heinkel had been forced to pull several strings to wrangle two seats on an already fully-booked flight. Not to mention the trouble she'd gone through to sneak her guns past security; apparently, Seras' glamour either didn't extend to metal detectors.

Yet these tasks had been simple indeed, when compared to the ordeal that awaited her: bluffing their way into Vatican City and then, into the archives themselves. Since the Holy Father was, by now, aware of Archbishop Maxwell's death and the subsequent demise of Vatican Special Section XIII, he would also know, were he informed of Heinkel's presence in the Holy See, that she was on no church-sanctioned errand. Her story, were it questioned, or simply given more than a passing glance, would not bear the scrutiny.

Seras was also a liability, as it was plain from her manner, as well as her garb, that she was no nun; and a few minutes' conversation would be sufficient to determine that she wasn't even Catholic. Still, leaving her behind was out of the question, since the draculina would undoubtedly follow anyway, further complicating the situation.

Besides, even Heinkel, battle-hardened as she was, could only face so many assailants at once; and while she preferred to believe that violence wouldn't be necessary, there was little room for optimism in her line of work.

While she would love to slip through the city's defenses undetected, like a character in some silly spy movie, such a feat would be impossible; given its unique position as the home of the Holy Father, in addition to some of the Church's most treasured relics, the Vatican's security was excellent, far superior to any other location in the world. Thus, even with Seras' abilities, attempting to enter the Holy See undetected would be foolhardy. They'd just have to do it the old-fashioned way—and hope they weren't captured or killed in the process.

If only the city weren't so thoroughly inoculated against magic! Then, they needn't bother announcing themselves but could simply slip inside, with the inhabitants none the wiser. Yet for centuries, the papal lands had been imbued with a certain energy: an aura that acted as protection to the holy men and women who dwelled there, a bulwark against the dark arts and a damper on magic in general.

Since the blessed ground of Holy See was also reported to repel "unholy" creatures, Heinkel wasn't certain if Seras, as a being of the night, could enter the city. Hopefully, her sources had been right, and this ability was fictitious; for the moment, however, she preferred not to dwell on this particular problem.

After all, there were more than enough waiting to take its place; and anyway, there was no point in worrying now. Besides, Heinkel wouldn't exactly be heartbroken if she were forced to leave her loquacious partner behind…

As the plane's wheels met the runway, several passengers let out a cheer; Heinkel gripped the armrests of her seat until her knuckles whitened, mind bursting with images of the craft crashing.

To distract herself, she stared fixedly at the back of Seras' head, wishing she, too, were impervious to danger; soon, though, Heinkel's fears were forgotten when the draculina, instead of celebrating along with the others, stiffened, her head arching.

 _What the…_

As the woman seated next to Seras cried out in alarm, the vampire shuddered, eyes rolling back in her head, body shaking so violently that several people were forced to dodge her flailing limbs…and then she was still. Too still.

"Seras!"

Heedless of the moving plane, Heinkel sprang to her feet, almost tripping over them in her haste to reach her partner. Now Seras was limp, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling; with her chalky skin and lifeless gaze, she resembled nothing more than the corpse she should have been. Fingers fumbling, Heinkel felt the girl's wrist for a pulse, but there was nothing.

 _Don't be an idiot!_ Yumie's voice scolded. _Vampires' hearts don't beat, remember?_

The thought of Seras seated on an examining table, face flushing as a doctor searched fruitlessly for her heartbeat, almost made her laugh, but Heinkel quickly quelled the hilarity. After all, this was no time for hysterics; she had to _think_. Seras' seatmate was tugging at her sleeve, yammering away in Italian, but Heinkel ignored her.

The plane shuddered to a stop; and with a squeal of static, the loudspeaker came to life once more. "Signore e signori, ora potete allentare le cinture di sicurezza. Si prega di uscire dall'aereo in modo ordinato."

Heinkel had no idea what the pilot had just said—despite residing in Rome for the past several years, she knew only a few token phrases in Italian—but she didn't need to. The plane had stopped; people crowded the aisles as they waited for the door to open; and any second now, the other passengers would be departing.

Heart thundering in her ears as adrenaline flooded her body, Heinkel shook Seras' shoulder as hard as she dared, but the other girl didn't so much as flinch. People were staring, some were whispering, and, despite her best efforts, Heinkel was beginning to panic.

After all, if the draculina didn't wake up—and soon—the authorities were bound to get involved; and the last thing they needed was for Seras to be taken to the hospital, where doctors would soon realize she was no ordinary patient.

Seras' seatmate was still jabbering, mirroring the clamor of her thoughts; it took all of Heinkel's self-control not to strike her.

 _Lord, what should I do? Is my mission over before it's even begun?_ Strangely, though, smiting Millennium with God's wrath no longer seemed so important. _Please wake up, Seras. I need you._ The draculina remained motionless, but Heinkel thought she saw the girl's eyelids flicker. She leaned closer, eyes scouring Seras' face…

"Excuse me, signora. Is everything all right?"

Locking eyes with a young stewardess sporting an over bright smile, Heinkel forced a smile of her own, ignoring the beads of sweat forming on her brow. At least the glamor Seras had cast to hide her features was still intact…

"We're fine. My friend isn't feeling well, that's all."

Seras' nosy neighbor added something in rapid fire Italian, and the stewardess frowned. "Are you sure? Perhaps she should see a doctor—"

Gritting her teeth, Heinkel willed herself to stay calm. "I _said_ she's fine."

If only she could hypnotize people like Seras! As it was, the only thing Heinkel could do was pray: that she wouldn't lose control and deck these well-meaning women, that Seras would be all right, that they'd make it off this damn plane without attracting any more attention.

 _Please, Lord. Surely this isn't Your will._

People surged forward as the plane door opened and a cool night breeze wafted through the cabin, caressing her skin; under any other circumstances, Heinkel would have savored it, after so long spent breathing stale air. The stewardess was still talking, but Heinkel couldn't hear her over the commotion of too many people trying to disembark at once.

 _This is our only chance._

In one smooth motion, Heinkel unfastened Seras' seatbelt and hauled the other girl to her feet, slinging her arm around the other girl's shoulders. Thankfully, Seras' meddlesome seatmate had vanished into the crowd; obviously, her compassion only extended to the end of the runway. As they navigated the narrow aisle, Seras moaned, her eyelids fluttering as she regained consciousness.

Heinkel sagged with relief. _Thank God._ She told herself it was only because Seras was so heavy, but even _she_ didn't buy such a paltry excuse.

"Heinkel?" Seras' voice was faint, but she seemed to be gaining strength every second. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you later." Heinkel muttered, glancing over her shoulder at the stewardess, who was still struggling to catch up with them. "Right now, we need to get out of here."

Seras nodded, uncharacteristically silent, but before Heinkel could question her, they emerged into the night. She blinked, eyes adjusting to the dark, when a figure stepped in front of them, blocking their path.

"Move aside." Heinkel growled, her patience fraying. She didn't have time for social niceties; the stewardess would reach them any second. But the figure refused to move; and Heinkel felt her body tense, fists clenching as she weighed her next move.

But then the silhouette spoke, and all thoughts of violence fled. "Mein Gott…Heinkel, is that you?"

For a moment, Heinkel was eight years old again, hands clasped as she sang hymns in the orphanage's tiny chapel, thanking God for this place that had become her home, for the people who had opened their hearts to the girl who'd believed no one would ever love her.

"Frau Lena?"


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

" _I have seen war, and invasions and riots. I have heard of massacres and brutalities beyond imagining, and I have kept my faith in the power of civilization to bring men back from the brink."_ —Iain Pears, _The Dream of Scipio_

Her mind reeling, Heinkel stared at the woman before her: a ghost from her past she'd never expected to see again. _How can this be?_ Mouth moving faster than her thoughts, she blurted, "I thought you were dead!" Gazing at the face of the only mother she'd ever known, her body ached with contradictory emotions: longing to hug Lena, then shake the sense out of her.

Although night had fallen and they stood in the plane's shadow, which further deepened the gloom—their fellow passengers had apparently left them to their fate, even the nosy stewardess—the lights from the runway illuminated Lena's face enough to reveal that, while her dark hair had greyed and lines creased her skin, she still had the same warm, open smile Heinkel remembered.

Indeed, the sight of the woman who'd raised her unleashed a wave of long-buried memories: _catching frogs with Wilhelm and Johan, her childhood playmates until they'd been adopted by a wealthy, childless couple; peeling potatoes for that night's dinner under the watchful gaze of Emma, the cook; standing nervously before prospective parents, hoping that this time,_ she _would be the one chosen_.

Even amid her shock and confusion, Heinkel resisted the urge to run to Lena, throw her arms around the woman's waist the way she had as a child, seeking comfort for some simple slight in the shelter of her skirts. If only she were young again, the little girl who, despite her sorrows, remained ignorant of true suffering…

She blinked, the images vanishing. _That girl is gone—and anyway, there's no time for this._

Lena laughed, but there was no humor in the sound; Heinkel sensed it was more of an attempt to keep herself from crying. "Funny; that's exactly what _I_ believed about _you_ , liebchen." Gaze shifting to Seras, she added, "It seems we have some catching up to do." Was it only Heinkel's imagination, or did she glimpse a spark of recognition in the older woman's eyes?

"Excuse me, signora." The stewardess had returned, but this time, a pair of beefy policemen accompanied her. "If you will please come with us…"

Seras, who still leaned heavily on Heinkel despite her return to consciousness, spoke before she could tell the twat to bugger off. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm feeling much better now. There's no need to—"

The stewardess' eyes narrowed, her pleasant expression morphing into a hateful mask. "It is not a request, _vampire_ , but an order. You should be grateful we did not kill you outright; you are alive only by the grace of His Eminence."

 _It seems the Holy See was apprised of our arrival after all._

Infuriated by the woman's smug expression—as well as her own failure to anticipate the situation—Heinkel snarled, "We're not going anywhere."

Her thoughts in turmoil, she scoured her memory for clues, some indication that the stewardess was more than an overbearing flight attendant, but came up empty. How long had she been following them? And how had Heinkel, who'd spent half her life training for such occurrences, overlooked this amateur?

"Very well, then." The stewardess inclined her head as if in surrender, though the smirk on her face suggested otherwise. She snapped her fingers, and the policemen moved in, guns drawn. "I suppose we'll have to do this the hard way."

 _Just the way I like it._

Gently pushing Seras behind her, Heinkel muttered, "Keep an eye on her, will you?" It wasn't immediately clear which woman she was speaking to.

To her credit, Seras didn't protest.

Turning to face her attackers, Heinkel felt her body relax into a fighting stance: a pose she'd adopted so many times it had become second nature. A fight, especially with fellow Catholics, was the last thing she needed, but there was no other option. As for discovering which of her informants had betrayed them…she'd worry about that later. In the meantime, she'd occupy herself devising a suitable punishment for the traitor.

Drawing her gun in one smooth motion, Heinkel fired at one of the "policemen", dropping him with a single shot to the stomach. She could easily have hit him in the head, neutralizing him permanently, but Heinkel refused to kill a fellow Catholic outright; she may have been an instrument of divine justice, but even God's retribution had its limits.

Of course, this applied only to her fellow humans; she would feel no remorse at obliterating the Millennium scum from the face of the earth. The face of the Captain, his expression inscrutable as he offered Heinkel a first aid kit just moments after shooting her, flashed into her mind; he could have killed her, too—but for some unknown reason, had chosen to spare her life—and she forced herself to focus on the death and destruction caused by the Nazis, to remember London burning.

 _I have no mercy to spare for those monsters._

"Matteo!"

The remaining policeman's anguished shout at the sight of his fallen comrade jolted Heinkel back to reality, enabling her to dodge his bullet, albeit just barely; the shot passed so close she felt her robes rustle with the force of it.

But before the man could squeeze off another shot, she'd neutralized him as well, leaving only the stewardess facing her. Graciously, Heinkel waited for her opponent to draw her own weapon, but the girl simply stood there, her skin pale and mouth open in shock; it was clearly her first combat experience.

Heinkel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _If these three are the best they could find, the Vatican's defenses must be much weaker than I've been told._

"Go ahead." The stewardess spat, eyes glittering with hatred. "Kill me, you traitor."

Heinkel opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but Lena spoke first. "Enough. Young lady, you must transport these men to a hospital right away. Can you do that?"

"Matteo…Gabriele…"

Her face crumpling, the stewardess sank to the ground beside her fallen partners; and though she'd been entirely justified in defending herself, Heinkel felt a twinge of guilt at the raw emotion on the girl's face: an echo of the pain she'd felt, as Yumie's body was torn to pieces by Walter.

The silence stretched for a long moment, broken only by the stewardess' sobs and the ragged breathing of the wounded, before the radio attached to the girl's lapel crackled. "Agent Rossi, what is your status? Over."

To her credit, Rossi managed to pull herself together enough to answer. "Moretti and Colombo have been shot; you must send an ambulance immediately."

"And the targets?"

Despite the radio's poor reception, Heinkel could hear the anger in the speaker's voice; it made her think of Integra, and _that_ made her fists clench. Honestly, she was much better off without that shrew ordering her around. Wasn't she?

"We failed to secure them." Rossi mumbled, hunching her shoulders as though bracing for a blow. "Please forgive our arrogance."

There was a short silence before the man replied, "The ambulance will be with you shortly. Over and out."

The radio fell silent, and Rossi slumped to the ground, staring at the device as though it were a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. "His Holiness will be so angry…" She whispered, so consumed by her foreboding that she scarcely seemed to notice the presence of the "targets" she had failed to capture.

Turning to Seras, Heinkel snapped, "We need to leave. Now."

Perhaps she could have handled the situation more tactfully, but diplomacy wasn't exactly her strong point. Besides, Heinkel's patience for the evening had already been exhausted; she was in no mood to fend off a bevy of meddling civilians in addition to the Vatican's pitiful attempt at security. And Agent Rossi may have been an amateur, but she should be able to keep her friends safe until help arrived.

Lena clucked her tongue, frowning in disapproval as though she were about to give them a thorough scolding. "Given the state your friend is in, the two of you won't get far. I insist you come with me."

Relief flooding her body—even her many contacts had been unable to secure them satisfactory, not to mention secure, accommodations—Heinkel nodded. "Thank you."

Though she tried to sound casual, unaffected by this sudden display of kindness, the grief, anxiety, and fatigue of the past few weeks made Heinkel's voice quiver: a far cry from the firebrand who had once so exasperated the orphanage staff. The force of her self-loathing made her wince. How had she come to this? How had the girl with such high hopes for her future, and for the future of the Church, been reduced to lying and hiding and working with infidels?

As she was well-versed in concealing her emotions, anyone else wouldn't have noticed Heinkel's distress, but Lena had always been different; like Yumie, she possessed the uncanny ability to peer into Heinkel's heart, discern her true feelings even through the façade she presented to the rest of the world.

What did Lena see now? Was she ashamed of her protégé? Did she fear her, the way countless others had? Fiercely, Heinkel told herself she didn't care what the woman thought of her, that she no longer needed Lena's approval, but she longed to know just the same.

Frau Lena gazed at her for a long moment before answering; whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she smiled: the same sunny expression that had so comforted Heinkel as a child, kept her from drowning in the sea of grief and loneliness that engulfed her when she first arrived at the orphanage.

"Of course…mein Kind."


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

" _Christ preached struggle as did no other. His life was a struggle for His beliefs, for which He went to His death. From everyone He demanded a decision between yes and no."_ —Walter Buch

Nearby, a chorus of church bells began to toll the hour—4 o'clock—and with a last glance at Agent Rossi, who was bent over her fallen comrades, smoothing the hair of the one called Matteo, Lena turned to go—though not before bowing her head and murmuring a quick prayer in Italian.

Though Heinkel knew little of the language, she understood enough to grasp that the older woman was praying for the wounded men. Even though she'd been justified in defending herself, guilt made her stomach churn. For the first time, Heinkel looked at the faces of fallen foes and wondered about the people behind the soldier's mask. Did they have wives? Children? Would they make it through the night?

 _Lord, I beg You; let them live._

Her hands were already stained with blood, yet the thought of adding these men to her list of casualties made Heinkel's blood run cold. _How strange._ After all, she'd killed on many occasions without regret. Perhaps it was because, this time, she knew the names of her opponents, had witnessed their affection for each other. Death was much more…difficult when the deceased was not a faceless corpse, but a person with hopes and dreams and fears.

"Come." Lena spoke briskly, in the same tone she'd often used to cajole children into eating their vegetables and obeying their bedtimes; Heinkel flinched, her grim reverie interrupted. "We mustn't linger."

Numbly, they followed her across the tarmac, too shaken and exhausted to argue. Agent Rossi watched them go; when her eyes met Heinkel's, her gaze glittered with hatred. Heinkel forced herself to stare straight ahead, reciting St. Michael's prayer under her breath until they were out of sight.

 _St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil…_

At least Seras seemed to have regained her strength somewhat; the color had returned to her face, and she moved on her own, though more slowly than usual. Heinkel felt a pang of worry as she watched the draculina struggle to keep pace.

 _In this state, she'll be useless to me—but I can't hope to infiltrate the Archives without her._

Well, Heinkel _could_ go it alone, but without Seras' powers of persuasion, it would be only a matter of time before someone recognized her, or looked too closely at the forged papers she'd procured. Besides, even if she somehow made it into the Archives undetected, Heinkel would never make it out alive; no doubt Vatican security would be on high alert after the agents' failed capture.

 _I suppose I could ask Lena to come with me…_

She could, but she wouldn't, even though Heinkel knew her foster mother would have agreed instantly, without waiting for an explanation; Lena had always stood by her charges, the one person in their lives who'd never failed them.

Heinkel's lips thinned. _But I refuse to put her in danger; I've done enough damage to the ones I love._ Not that there were many of them left.

Studying her foster mother's confident stride, her straight back and the firm set of her shoulders, she was struck by the realization that, at heart, Lena was still the same young woman who began each day with a prayer in her heart and a song on her lips; the silver in her hair was not a sign of age, but wisdom. Inwardly, at least, Heinkel was the crone, the one with the shriveled heart whose joy had fled long ago.

The realization chilled her, and she lengthened her stride to match Lena's, as though the older woman's presence could chase away the darkness rising inside her. Sensing her distress, Lena took Heinkel's hand in hers, but the gesture did little to ease the hollowness in Heinkel's chest; she clutched her crucifix so tightly her fingers ached.

She could feel Lena's eyes on her, but Heinkel refused to meet her gaze, knowing the concern in her foster mother's eyes would shatter her resolve, causing her to confess everything right there in the middle of the airport—and as badly as she wanted to tell someone the truth, with no omissions, not even Lena could know everything. It was simply too dangerous.

A hand grabbed her wrist; and she whirled around, gun drawn, before realizing it was Seras. Heart pounding, Heinkel snapped, "I told you not to sneak up on me!" Now that adrenaline coursed through her veins, she felt every ache she'd been too dazed to notice before; any anxiety about her partner's condition was quickly replaced by annoyance.

Seras ducked her head, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I, uh, forgot how jumpy you are."

 _It's_ called _being prepared for combat; you should try it sometime._ Heinkel thought about scolding her partner, but she didn't have the energy; and there'd be plenty of time to berate Seras later, away from prying eyes. "Come on; Lena's getting ahead of us."

They resumed walking, Heinkel half-dragging Seras whenever the other girl slowed. It was hard work, since the draculina was surprisingly heavy for someone so small. Maybe it was because of those ridiculous breasts of hers…

They were quiet for a minute or two, the silence broken only by Heinkel's labored breathing, before Seras murmured, "Who is she?"

Through the fog of fatigue, Heinkel barely heard the question; now that the adrenaline had worn off, all she cared about was finding a place to rest, preferably a feather bed. "The woman who raised me." Ordinarily, she wouldn't have been so forthcoming, but exhaustion loosened her tongue.

Seras was silent, absorbing this. Finally, she asked, "Why didn't you tell me about her before?" She sounded hurt, but Heinkel was too exhausted to care.

She shrugged. "You never asked." This was nowhere near the truth, but it was easier than explaining her dislike of dwelling on the past, remembering the broken girl she'd once been.

Seras looked unconvinced, but thankfully, she didn't press the subject.

Rather than following the rest of the passengers through the terminal, they'd crossed the runway, heading for the chain link fence surrounding the airport; aircraft roared overhead, though Heinkel was too weary to be bothered by the noise.

Surprisingly, no one stopped them or demanded to know where they were going, but then, the darkness, broken only by blinking runway lights and the flashing of the air traffic control tower, hid them from prying eyes; even Agent Rossi and her companions had vanished into the gloom. Besides, at this hour, the airport was nearly deserted—though it would soon be crawling with people once Rossi's backup arrived.

Stopping in front of the fence, Lena produced a key from her pocket and unlocked the gate with the air of someone who had done this many times before. Waving the others through, she fastened it behind them.

"We're nearly there."

A short time later, Heinkel found herself standing on the porch of a small, shabby structure with an air of faded gentility. Though the orphanage had been much larger and rather less dilapidated, something about the house reminded her of her childhood home. Then she caught sight of the toys scattered over the worn floorboards.

Following her gaze, Lena chuckled. "No matter how many times I tell them to put their things away, they always forget." Producing another key from her pocket, she opened the door, waving them through grandly, like the doorman of some five-star hotel.

The hallway was dark and silent, a balm to Heinkel's frazzled nerves; once the door clicked closed, she pressed her aching forehead against the cool wood, too tired to care what the others thought. As they followed Lena down the corridor, Heinkel noted the framed photographs displayed there; each had been lovingly cleaned and dusted, a testament to the children Lena had devoted her life to.

Heinkel was still scanning the photographs, when one in particular caught her attention; her eyes widened as she recognized the child standing next to Frau Lena. Her eyes hidden behind a round pair of spectacles, the girl's scowl was as prominent as the silver crucifix she wore.

A lump rose in her throat. _She's kept that picture all these years?_

Lena said softly, "You always were stubborn. What a battle it was, convincing you to wear a dress that day!"

"I remember."

With that, Heinkel turned her back on the picture, and the hurricane of emotions that accompanied it. Despite Lena's light-hearted attitude, both knew it wasn't the dress that had bothered her that day, but the knowledge that all the fancy clothing in the world couldn't gain Heinkel what she wanted most: a family. That was the whole point of the picture, after all: to display her to potential parents—a pointless endeavor.

By then, Heinkel was well aware that she would never be adopted; according to the nuns who ran the orphanage, she was simply too headstrong and inquisitive to make a good daughter. Prospective parents didn't want a girl like her; rather, they preferred daughters who did as they were told and didn't ask too many questions, the girls who spent their days playing with dolls and teasing boys, the sort of girls Heinkel avoided at all costs.

It wasn't that she disliked them, exactly; Heinkel simply didn't belong with such delicate creatures. Even as a toddler, she'd preferred tree climbing to tea parties; and boys, with their rough and tumble ways, made far better companions. _They_ bore their bruises and scraped knees with dignity. Heinkel had never understood why her fellow females were so quick to cry; after all, tears never changed anything. Better to grit your teeth until the pain passed.

Anyway, her pain—the type worth crying over—was slow to come. At first, the nuns' lectures about her faults and dire pronouncements about her future didn't phase her; in her earliest years, Heinkel dreamed of a family who would love her, claim her as their own despite her faults. After all, if God loved her despite her flaws, surely He would send her a mother and father who would as well.

But as the years passed and the other girls departed for new homes and families, the dormitory emptied until her only companion was Ada, who wore braces on her legs and had never minded Heinkel's oddities. But then a doctor and his wife came to visit; and were instantly charmed by Ada's sad eyes and sweet manner. Ada cried as she bid her friend goodbye, but she smiled through her tears. Heinkel smiled, too, but inside her heart was breaking.

Later, she stood at the window, watching her only friend hobble down the driveway, hand in hand with her new parents; Heinkel wanted to cry, but her eyes remained maddeningly dry. Ada waved at those who'd gathered to see her off, then took the doctor's hand as he helped her into the car. Heinkel suddenly regretted remaining upstairs, but she hadn't been able to face the thought of her friend beginning a new life, becoming part of a family, without her.

 _I'll never see her again._

Finally, tears rolled down her cheeks; as if sensing her sorrow, Ada glanced up, eyes meeting Heinkel's, and mouthed, _Goodbye._ Heinkel remained at the window, watching the vehicle recede into the distance, until it vanished from view.

After Ada's departure, it became harder and harder to imagine anyone wanting her, harder and harder to picture the bright future that had once seemed so certain. Frau Lena tried to reassure her, but she was busy enough as it was, and anyway, the empty beds surrounding Heinkel spoke much more eloquently—not that they stayed that way for long; there seemed to be no shortage of unwanted children in those days.

At night, Heinkel lay awake, listening to the breathing of the new arrivals, wondering how many weeks would elapse before they, too, were gone. A few tried to befriend her, but gave up when she scorned them. Not that Heinkel minded; Ada was the only one who had understood her because she, too, was different; these girls were just like all the others.


End file.
